How did I become keeper of the lost?

All those faces peering at me from tiny

paper rectangles with no identification.

Who are they?

They stare at me and smile like somehow I should know them,

but I don’t and I feel that I have somehow let them down.

They stare at me from the past, trying to make a connection;

Familial I assume, but I don’t recognize them at all.

I find myself wishing they could  speak from beyond the grave-

giving me some idea of who they are.

Did they love people and animals like me?

Did they revel in nature and her many gifts; rivers, mountains,

trees, hand painted skies, and spring fed creeks?

Did they have gardens lush with blooms in every season?

Did they treasure time spent with children?

Who amongst them am I most like? These are mysteries

that won’t be solved – leaving me with the question –

When did I become keeper of the lost?

 

She wraps the humid cloak of summer around her shoulders

and wishes she could hold on to that warmth until winter ushers

in the cold. Then she could pull the sultry shawl from its hiding place

and wrap it round her shoulders to feel once again July’s satisfying heat.

That which was once sweltering, is instead essential – granting comfort from winter’s

bitter chill.

When all you see is her exterior,

you miss so much.

You miss that wicked sense of humor

and intense intuition.

You miss her intelligence

and her love of words.

You miss her warm heart

and deep compassion.

You miss her love for life and learning.

In fact, you neglect knowing her at all.