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.

Time of day when the wind surrenders its fury-

Birds scurry to eat their fill, and

Sky softens, moon rises, as the world winds down.

This is where a house once stood – white and majestic.

It stood for over a century – filled with a family’s stories and history.

It stood until one freezing cold night in January when horror struck –

and the gas furnace exploded.

This is where fire consumed an entire house, and all that remained

were three chimneys.

This is where my heart was first broken.

Here I am at the end of 2016 inside my pleasant, artsy,

warm house surrounded by beauty and people and

animals I love. I’m safe and warm; I have plenty to eat.

I feel lucky, yet I wonder about those who are not

safe or warm and don’t have enough to eat. Do they have

have the same optimism looking forward as I do?

Or, do they continue to feel defeated and desperate – depressed?

I have no clear answers, but some need tangible items, and others

require love and support.

So, here’s to looking forward with hope…

I secretly cherish your

Bare limbed beauty – casting long shadows while

Your ebony limbs reach toward blissful blue skies –

And, I love how you carry scars like treasure on every limb-

Stark bare branched beauties.

Love looks like Mama & Papa loving  a young boy and a

new brother both eager to know the world around them.

Love looks like baby chicks as they begin to grow feathers, and

large mooing cows with soft noses.

Love looks like black squealing pigs rolling in straw

and a pup jumping on you to remind you she’s there.

Love looks like the steadfastness of an old dog as Maggie

sleeps in the sun.

Love sounds like hooting owls awake and hunting at nighttime.

Love is fishing and swimming in the creek with Papa,

and cooking in the kitchen with Mama and Grandma.

Love looks like a cat named Golden who meows his hellos

and send an occasional warning with his sharp claws.

Love is a well written story to read alone, or share with others.

Summer gardens have edible love – fresh sweet corn,

all kinds of tomatoes, beans, squash, onions, garlic, okra –

cucumbers for munching and for making pickles.

A garden’s love looks like delicious nourishment that helps you grow.

Love is all around – you just have to recognize it.