Guide

old hands

Weathered hands
mapped by lines of experience
gently pick up a shrivelled, dry seed.
Tan, calloused skin dwarfs the grain.

Slow, deliberate movement
rolls the seed between perceptive
thumb and fingers.
Rich, black dirt
tenderly accepts the buried offering.

Wise blue eyes observe patiently
from a distance.

Delicate green sprigs
burst through soft loam.
Pale and fragile new growth erupts
disoriented
by new surroundings.

Sunlight sends warm caresses.
Strength flows through its golden glow.
With inspired confidence the plant
deliberately stretches for the light.

When contact is made with a solid wall on the left,
new shoots and blossoms are sent to the right.

A vision of rich shades grows.
Thick, green leafy vines.
White and pink petals.
A triumphant shock of compressed energy
strives toward a radiant sky.

Petals soon fall.
Vines thicken, become brittle.
Naked seeds stand exposed on stems.

Knowledgeable hands pluck them
as they dry and shrivel.
New growth contained within their tiny husks
will not be forgotten.
They, too, will push through the soil
refreshed
recharged
jubilant.

Epiphany

She startled the afternoon when she strode purposefully into the quiet room.
Flaming red hair, harbinger of her lively essence, tucked casually under a black
wool tuque, low ponytail forgotten. The bright blaze down her back begged
indifference but the exceptional color could not escape notice.
Camouflage pants spilled into bright orange boots, oozing with youthful confidence.
She approached with laidback ease.
Her white teeth, one near the front slightly overlapping another,
satisfied her broad smile.
Loud boisterous laughter rolled from her lips, smacked with a mischievous air.
Her lighthearted presence filled the room.

And I saw what others could not.
Youth choosing life. While her cells waged a battle of their own deep inside,
one destroying another.

In a Funk

Today is a melancholy day
Last night ‘lack of confidence’ arrived
along with her companion ‘cynicism’
followed closely by ‘sadness’ and ‘depression’
It’s a crowd
my soul balks at their presence

Rose colored glasses were trampled in haste
as these visitors clambered to enter my day
before my eyes were fully awake

An opaque shroud of blurred vision
with a fearful tinge of imagined obstacles
was left behind
the ‘Bogey man’ under the bed
who rode in on the coattails of these intruders

Misty grey skies
echo my somber mood

I have invited rest
to keep me company
as I hope sleep will escort
these uninvited callers elsewhere
while my eyes are closed