The train whistle is sharp, piercing the morning ritual of the awakening world, drowning the greetings of birds, overpowering the sleepy sun. Yet, within minutes it is over, this harsh interlude imposed on morning's grace. The whistle fades, the rumblings and churnings gradually quiet, the earth settles, the stillness returns. Birdsong rises in beauty, even lovelier than before, made perfect in the wake of human's roar. Our passing through is brief, but our days are renewed each morning.
I realize, after eating a breakfast of pancakes on the patio, then eating soup outside for lunch, and having done nothing, really, all day so far, I realized I don’t want to go shopping. Not for shoes for my outfit. Not for a curtain rod for my living room window. Not for groceries, even though Ricky needs a jar of jam for his peanut butter sandwiches. I don’t want to leave home.
The wind is fresh, the day is warm, the clouds are beautiful. I see birds gliding. I hear a lawn mower droning. The kids a couple of yards down are playing. It smells of earth and grass and flowers out here. The birds sing and rest, sing and rest. Brownie is sunbathing. I don’t want to leave this scene. I like feeling unrushed. A bee hovers over a white clover flower. The tree leaves rustle with each breath of the wind. I want to feel like I am on vacation. I want to sit and think and dream.
I want to feel whatever it is I need to feel on this Mother’s Day weekend. It’s been five years since my Mom died and I still can’t look at her picture without upsetting the balance of my inner world. It still hurts to post a Mother’s Day photo of me and my Mom on Facebook. Others miss her too. It’s a little easier to think of that now – at first it was too much. I couldn’t hold their pain in my thoughts on top of my own loss. This was asking too much of me. I’m better now.
The neighbor’s dog races across his yard, a red frisbee in his mouth. The little kids scream and squeal with delight. The lawn mower is quiet now; a job well done is left in its wake. Brownie moves to the shade, barks a little, then settles. I am in no hurry to leave this space. Nature’s soothing balm works its way into the soft places in my soul. In my mind, I pack my duties and responsibilities, by should-haves and would-haves, the pressures and demands of normal living. I pack them in a cardboard box, tape it shut, and mark it with a black Sharpie: DO NOT OPEN until Monday.
Thus, I permit myself to enjoy Mother’s Day weekend. I allow myself a guilt-free rest. I, too, am a mother, and this day gives honor to me as well, even though I don’t feel honorable. Which mother among us ever feels worthy? We never know if we are doing a good-enough job of raising our children. But it is nice to have someone else cook for us, or give us flowers, or say the words, “I love you, Mom.” Our kids may not know it, but we are only human, making mistakes, not knowing how to do this, and always needing to hear those words of affirmation. I love you, Mom. So here’s to another Mother’s Day weekend. May we all hear those words from someone we love, even though it may only come through a birdsong.
I saw a black bird today, soaring into the heavens with not a single flap of wing heart wide open, riding the currents the breath of God blowing him high high higher black wingspan stretched across deep blue oh, to ride the sky effortless weightless free how would that be?
If you’re looking for uplifting messages, encouraging words, and inspirational poetry, you’ve come to the right place.
Hi, I’m Karen Hessler, a poet and writer from south Louisiana. I live a quiet life surrounded by the beauty of nature. This beauty has helped me keep my spirits up during these long days of the COVID-19 pandemic, and through the terrible tragedies happening almost daily, locally as well as nationally and globally.
There is healing power in the beauty of nature. I call it “God’s art.” And guess what? You don’t have to go far to find this beauty. It is as close as your own backyard!
Look up, what do you see? Just notice…a blue sky is always nice, but storm clouds contain their own form of beauty. Shape shifting clouds are works of art. Look down, what is there? A blade of grass, a wild flower, a chunk of dirt, all part of the earth…a leaf, a bug, maybe a feather or a four-leaf clover.
What do you hear? Birds singing? Dogs barking? Maybe people talking, horns blowing, hammers pounding. Just notice.
Your perception of beauty will grow. Your ability to see beauty will expand. Your noticing skills will increase.
Suddenly you will see beauty everywhere. The ordinary will become extraordinary. The simple becomes profound.
And YOU will change. Your heart will expand. When you begin noticing and appreciating the beauty all around, you will grow… because BEAUTY GROWS. And you ARE beauty.
YOU ARE BEAUTY!
Keep blooming, my friend.
God bless you. ❤️
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