I sit before a spill of a thousand pieces trying to make order– edges, colors, shapes: an airplane, little man, Shrek, Swiss cheese punched with holes…
It hardly matters. The pieces are finite, and even if a few are lost the picture will declare itself in time.
But in life– I will never know the count. The shapes keep changing, colors fade as I reach for them. I turn my mind this way and that, seeking a fit, some clear design.
Still, the table remains scattered. I learn to live beside it. The clarity I seek remains elusive.
At the end of the year I unfold the paper like a map I once trusted. The old words look back at me- learn this, finish that, be better, be faster, be more.
I measure the year with a thin ruler: checkmarks, omissions, the ache of time spent wandering where I thought I should have marched. I grieve the unused hours, The bright mornings laid down carelessly, as if life were a ledger and I had failed to balance it.
But this year refuses such accounting. It rises instead like a bird startled from tall grass- sudden, radiant, alive.
How could I have predicted it? The laughter that came unannounced. The days so full they tipped over. The quiet happiness that arrived without a task list, sat beside me, and stayed.
None of it can be crossed off. None of it fits in neat verbs. and yet – how true it all was. How necessary.
So I make a different kind of list now. I write: notice everything. I write: follow that which warms the heart. I write: say yes when joy knocks softly, and listen when it calls loudly.
Let the new year be generous in ways I cannot plan. Let happiness be my work, and attention my devotion.
I fold the paper gently. Outside, something begins anew.
This year I soared through skies untamed, Where heights were thrilling, dreams unchained. The sunlit peaks, so bold, so near, But shadows lingered – storms appeared.
The winds of change, they howled and roared, And turbulence I so abhorred Shook the wings I thought were strong, Yet somehow, still, I flew along.
The high points glimmer, bright, profound, Moments where my heart unbound. I treasure these, their golden hue, And honor trials I stumbled through.
For every bruise, a lesson learned, Through fiery paths, resilience earned. Not unscathed, but still I stand, A voyager, with faith in hand.
Now as this year’s horizon fades, I pray for softer serenades. A gentle landing, calm and clear, To close this wild, unsteady year.
And may the winds of what’s to come, Bring brighter skies, a kinder sun. For though I trembled, I endured – A stronger soul, a heart assured.
Wishing you all the very best for the holidays and a wonderful 2025! ❤️
Within these walls, my heart does rest, A haven wrought with love’s own crest. The strokes of brush on canvas bare, Birds in flight and animals fair. Vermont’s wild lands in oil unfold, Sunset’s fire, winter’s cold.
Here roses bloom in vases old, Ceramic treasure finely scrolled. Their petals whisper of the past, Of father’s gifts – how time does last. And glass that gleams, my mother’s hand, In paperweights from foreign lands.
On shelves, the books of poets dwell, Their words, like spells, my soul compels. Photographs with faces dear, In every frame, I hold them near. This is my world, a soft embrace, Where every corner finds its place.
Some speak of spaces clean and bare, Of lives unbound by things they wear. Yet here, amidst this cherished cache, I find my peace and hold it fast. For in each token, vase, or frame, Life’s rich fabric, for now remains.
So let the world of minimal claim, Their rooms untouched by love’s sweet flame. For in my charming abode, I see, The beauty that belongs to me.
I have just started giving my special treasures to my daughters for their own homes. I love seeing how my belongings look surrounded by completely different color and decorating schemes, and, my daughters’ own art and objects of affection.
Another day awakens, sunlight gently streams, Yet, I lie entangled in elusive dreams. Mountains of tasks, a daunting array, Head heavy with the weight of the pending day.
The dawn whispers of responsibilities vast, A symphony of to-dos, shadows cast. Bed’s comfort tempts, a refuge to stay, But, the world outside demands its sway.
The ache in the head, the burden of thought, Projects loom, battles to be fought. In the warmth of the sheets, a plea is said, To linger longer, and avoid the day ahead.
Ah! If only I could luxuriate in bed for a few more minutes!
Like a sudden thaw in the middle of winter, grace happens at unexpected moments. It stops us short, catches the breath, disarms. If we manipulate it, try to control it, somehow earn it, that would not be grace. Yet not everyone has tasted of that amazing grace, and not everyone believes in it. – Philip Yancey
On my walk today, I felt the warmth of the sun on my back like the reassuring hand of an old friend.
Oh what a beautiful morning, Oh what a beautiful day, I have a wonderful feeling, Everything’s going my way. from Oklahoma by Rodgers and Hammerstein
I am a morning person. I like to get up with the sun and make a definite start to the day. But some mornings, especially when it is cold outside, I am completely seduced by the warmth of my own bed and the feeling of the covers around me. So I decide not to get up but to stay in bed and enjoy the moment.
Anagnorisis definition: the point in a play, novel, etc., in which a principal character recognizes or discovers another character’s true identity or the true nature of their own circumstances.
The first sounds I hear upon waking in the morning are those of the low-pitched train whistle as it approaches the station about two miles away. The intensity of the sound seems to vary depending on the weather – it is much louder on foggy days. I hear one blast at first followed by several more urgent blasts. At first, I am comforted by the sounds – sounds of a new day, sounds of my daily life in the city. But then, I think of why the whistle blasts so persistently. This station and these tracks have been the scene of a number of tragedies in recent years – high school students mostly. So those first happy thoughts quickly turn to sadness, mourning for the unknown-to-me young lives lost. Every lighthouse, buoy marker, and signal can also be a symbol for the ominous. Then I realize that I must put aside my dark thoughts and be grateful for the wonderful day that lies ahead!
Satin & Sand 