It's a germy world out there

It’s a germy world out there –

Money,

Toilet seats,

Faucets

and –

Styluses!  (They expect you to pick them up and write with them,

                                                right there in the sick-folks pharmacy!)

Elevator buttons,

Keyboards,

Door handles

and –

Hands!  (They’re thrust at you everywhere, especially at church!  To refuse them is

                                                rude; to receive them, sure exposure.)

Potlucks,

Salad bars,

Tables, chairs

and –

Plates!  (They’re handled by employees, with thumbs around the edges, sometimes

                                                held up high, right under breathing faces!)

Stair rails,

Remote controls,

Light switches

and –

Doctors’ offices!!!  (The absolute worst!  They’re sanitized battlefields,                                                  contagion conference sites!)

It’s a germy world out there.  (Now go wash your hands.)

Trophies

We bring them home like trophies for quick-life consumers,

Awarded to the busy, the ones who sip and travel –

Starbucks, McAllister’s:  those are the favorites,

Frequently won by the haste of our schedule,

Cups for a spot on the top of our counter,

Shiny refills to go and go. . .

Peace of Art

Quiet confidence.

It comes with seeking a skill,

With stretching normal patience,

With slow, rhythmic stitches in predictable patterns,

With the steadily earned hope of pleasing accomplishment,

With each ordered turn of the purposed yarn becoming more than its single self –

A perfectly tangled peace of art.

The Farm

 

Perfect biscuits, chocolate cookies,

Giant turkeys, country ham,

Barbecue, apple butter,

Oyster dressing, peach cobbler –

Something’s always cooking when we go to the farm.

Honey bees, golden corn,

Roma beans, ripe tomatoes,

Lilac bush, purple iris,

Knockout rose, pink mimosa –

Something’s always growing when we go to the farm.

Long flat walks, homemade music,

Shotgun tourneys, Chevy rides,

Dusty truck trips, rolling tractors,

Playful kittens, pond fishing –

Something’s always happening when we go to the farm.

Open doors, steady welcome,

Reconnection with the homeplace,

Catching up, slowing down,

Peace inside, Love around –

It’s what we always find when we go to the farm.

Memorial to the Maples

We’ll miss you, sugar maples, and

Your colorful displays,

Your framing of the farmhouse,

Your constance as a landmark.

You watched us play, as children,

‘Neath your friendly branches.

You cooled us with your shade;

You held us as we climbed.

You heard our family chatter,

You watched us come and go –

We grew, and you grew with us,

Putting down strong roots.

You welcomed in the seasons;

You weathered all extremes.

You reached toward God with tree grace –

We’ll miss you, sugar maples.

Keepsake

She’s cradled by a quilt

She can’t remember making –

Bits of lovely fabric

She cut and stitched with care.

In another lifetime,

(Then someone same, but different),

She used her art and skill

To make a treasured keepsake.

How could she have known

How much she’d one day need it –

An obvious reminder

Of who she was and is?

Sundogs

I saw sundogs today –

Twin pets of fire and light,

Strolling with their owner,

One on either side.

Chunks of rarest rainbow

On a short, taut leash –

Wagging colored tails

For anyone who's looking.

Blue Hole

Blue hole cut in a

Deep gray sky,

Lined by gold on a

Late November day:

Is it long-awaited light

Or dark portended storm, or

Just a piece of Question

Loved by the sunset?

 

The Big One

 

Thank God for the big one –

Still waiting in the water.

He brings me back again.

He makes my fishing hopeful.

I see him, wet and brown,

His belly yellow-orange, or

Slick and silver-hued,

His side just full of rainbow!

He shows himself sometimes;

He taunts me as I cast –

A rising invitation,

Always out of reach.

I’m waiting for that day,

That pic where we both smile,

That time, when, on the river,

I thank God for the big one.

I go

I don’t allow myself to go there very often –

that place where I’ve never heard those three big words,

            “You have cancer,”

that place where health isn’t really an issue,

where every decision isn’t altered by disease,

where the future stretches out all

            smooth and happy-normal,

where I enjoy weddings and

            grandkids and anniversaries and

            retirement with my husband,

where I don’t wonder if I’ll be replaced, and

            I never script my own funeral,

that place where I don’t know chronic pain and

            think about recurrence,

where insurance is not a tightrope,

            just a monthly obligation,

where cancer only happens to other people and

            it isn’t in their eyes every time they look at me,

that place where needle sticks are rare and

            side-effects unknown –

I know I can’t stay there.

I don’t go there often.

But I go.

The Very Best

Breathing in steam,

Blowing it cooler –

Basking, my hands, in the

Warmth of the mug

Gauging the temp with

Each soothing sip, and

Courting the cup,

Accepting its comfort

Waiting and wooing,

Relaxing, undoing –

Of a cup of hot tea,

That’s the very best part.

I love a rainy day

I love a rainy day,

Gently blown by wind,

Steady-dripping eaves,

Drop-spattered panes.

I love the moving patio,

Circles – growing, gone,

Swishy-quick road wetness,

Sprayed by sparkling cars.

I love the messy puddles,

Brightened, thirsty grass,

Cool, fragrant mud –

Black, a little chancy.

I love the just-washed air,

Moist and sweet to lungs,

The steady hum on roof, and

Stripey lines out windows.

Unexpected views,

Changes in agenda,

Sameness shaken up –

I love a rainy day.

The Take

Struggling down the bank,

Pushing through one turbine,

Navigating weedbeds –

The best spots taken!

Settling for the fringes,

Making hopeful casts,

Pondering which fly will

Best entice the big one.

Waiting for the interest,

Watching for a rise,

Praying for some action –

Please, God, a fish.

Thrilling at the take,

Feeling tug on line,

Pulling in the brown –

This one, a fighter!

There, in my hand,

A piece of wild river,

Flashing, alive, and

Mine for this moment.

Then back to the water,

Both brown trout and line,

To capture what’s special –

Illumined time.

Many Waters

We fished awhile today, and

Walked in many waters –

Lost Creek,

Childer’s Creek,

(Hiwassee possibilities),

Deep pools at

Coker Creek,

(Has anybody been there?),

The Yellow on Starr Mountain,

The Clinch,

(Inconsistent),

Rushing streams at

Greenbriar,

(Brookies in the Smokies),

Scenic Little River,

(Too cold now, or soon),

Legendary Citico,

(Hard to find the outlet),

Beaver Kill, and

Parksville,

Ocoee #1,

The bridge at 411,

(Walk up, and then

wade down).

We fished awhile today,

Got caught in many waters –

Rivers of the mind,

Where fish swim

All the time.

The Extra

 

 

What happied my birthday,

52, female?

What made the ordinary

More like the “extra”?

Mysterious packages,

Morning openings,

Cards funny/heartfelt,

Picked out with care.

Tennessee notecards,

Honey bee things,

Thoughtful items from

People who know me.

A lingering bath –

No hurry, no rush –

An omelet so special, with

Pepper, cheese, onions.

Dark chocolate with breakfast?

Yes, I think so, and

Lady Grey tea,

Sweetened with honey.

Fun facebook greetings,

So many, so kind,

Joggers of memories,

Small reconnections.

A fan installed, the

Present of work,

Blades whisper-quiet,

New in our bedroom.

Fishing the river,

Wading one turbine,

Seeing a friend,

Talking to family.

 

Pizza, a movie,

(Even a Coke!),

Homemade brownies,

Aroma of chocolate.

Surprises continued,

A cake, some cookies,

A soft scarf to warm and

Stretch birthday pleasure.

Reminders, all, of the

Beauty of time,

God’s Gift daily,

Not just on birthdays.

Life’span

Just three golden specks –

Captive in a clear vial –

That, plus a little creek water, is all, after

A dozen-plus shovelfuls of

Coker Creek stream bed,

Three hours of

Swishy-swirls,

Big rock tosses,

Brown sand refusal and

Black sand backwashes.

Pure gold,

Almost 24K, barely visible and

Infinitely rewarding –

A tiny reminder that

Treasure really is

Out there,
Small, but valuable,

Under layers of distracting dirt,

Past painstaking work and

Slow, careful sifting,

It waits for the patient;

It is saved for the persistent.

At the bottom of a life’span is the

Rare and real and wonderful –

No mistaking that stuff -

It’s all that lasts.

It’s all that matters.

You’ll know gold when you see it.

Gold, a Haiku

Here, measured treasure,

But in heaven, just pavement –

Pale beside my God.

McAlister's Iced Tea

McAlister’s iced tea –

It always hits the spot.

Freshly brewed, never bitter,

Smooth, (sweet or un),

Cool and icy chunky in a

Tall clear cup.

Long red straw, with

Refills aplenty, of

Instant refreshment, plus

Prolonged satisfaction.

Caffeine, a Haiku

Caffeine stamina –

Artificial energy

Waiting for the crash.