Rally, My Friend

Rally

With April being Poetry Month I doff my hat to all the poets in the world. With humble pen in hand and crisp sheets on the desk, I scribble and scrawl the words which beat within my breast.

Life is fragile and life is resilient. The day before I learned about a dear friend’s diagnosis of bone cancer. Over the weekend a young woman whom I’ve not met but heard spoken of with admiration by a friend, a young woman who was lovely and pleasant, who had a husband and a 5-year old daughter,…this young woman died in a plane crash. Life is fragile, and the dealings of life are sometimes so very unfair. 

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Citrus Jam

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If I owned a café I would serve you fresh croissants with citrus jam.

If you craved a dessert and it’s past midnight and all the stores are closed, I would make you crêpes and top it with citrus jam.

If you visited from afar and we just met at Starbucks, I would dash home to give you a jar of citrus jam.

(Ok, that last scenario is a bit much, but you get the point.)

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We are Meant to Soar

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It is a season of change. The winds continue to whip across the brown flats of the Texas plains, but the air that it brings is warmer. It does not sting or bite or chase you to find shelter. It only caresses your face more often than you’d like, and it tugs at your hair to unravel and dishevel as it pleases. The wind is not gracious. It pulls like a demanding toddler. But it brings change. Spring is in the air, although not apparent. The landscape is still harsh in this place of glass and iron buildings, of dust and concrete. When the rain falls, it is warm. The glass panes do not fog over, and there are no more icicles.

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Winter is an Exhortation to Patience

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Bright, white sunlight bathes the buildings outside my window in a gaudy glow. A mockery. It speaks of warmth and summer; it beckons one to be busy and ongoing. These sun-drenched days are false. For what is winter if not a slowing down of the season? The nights are longer, the air crisper. We fix our gaze inward to replenish our souls, our bodies, for the maddening bustle of restless summer. (As if the holidays were not bustle enough.)

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