I once believed in fairy tales, in love so vast, so bright, A love that soared on golden wings and lit the darkest night. I dreamed of hands that knew my own, of hearts that beat the same, Of whispered vows in starlit hush, of love that burned like flame.
Yet time wove shadows in my path, and love became a ghost, A wistful wish, a fleeting dream, a ship without a coast. I wandered through the quiet years, through echoes soft and thin, Not knowing love was biding time, still waiting to begin.
And then—you came, like summer rain, like dawn upon the sea, A love so deep, so fierce, so true, it woke the soul in me. No fleeting spark, no passing storm, no whisper in the air, But something strong as ancient oaks, as certain as a prayer.
The love of ballads, sonnets bright, the love that poets weave, The love of kings and wayard knights, of hearts that won’t deceive. A love where laughter, wild and free, is laced with tender sighs, Where every glance is poetry, where longing never dies.
So here we stand, with hands entwined, where fate and dreams align, A love reborn, a tale retold—forever yours and mine. No more a wish, no more a ghost, no more a fleeting glance, But love, at last, as it should be—our fated, timeless dance.
I have found love again! I am so grateful for each and every glorious moment we spend together!
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! ❤️
Upon the highway’s winding course I sped, When, far above, a falcon soared and spun, In widening gyres, a dancer in the sun, The sky its stage, the world beneath it fled, Each sweep, each turn, with majesty it led, The climbing spiral, silent, graceful run, Riding the breeze till earth and sky were one, And all my thoughts were to its freedom wed.
Not mine, the wings that cleave the golden air, Yet in my breast, a strange desire grew- To feel the lift, the warm caress, the rare Delight of flight that to the heavens drew. Not to escape, but for the joy to share A moment’s lightness in the sunlit blue.
Perhaps the joys of my first roller coaster rides and waterskiing around the lake come the closest to the feeling of flight that I craved that day.
In shadows cast by judgment’s weight, I find myself, a bird, sedate. Dreams clipped by critical gaze, An anchor, heavy, in life’s maze.
Each flight of joy, a tentative dance, Held back by words, a stifling trance. But deep within, a yearning stirs, For freedom’s song, no longer deferred.
To cut the chains, to break away, From mainstays holding, day by day. To soar anew, with wings unfurled, Towards dreams embraced, in a boundless world.
So let me sever, let me fly, Bid farewell to judgement’s sigh. For in the vastness of the sky, I’ll find my joy, no longer shy.
Today I noticed that the birds are back in my yard. Spring has come once again!
The starling is my darling, although I don’t much approve of its Habits. Proletarian bird, Nesting in holes and corners, making a mess, And sometimes dropping its eggs Just any old where – on the front lawn, for instance.
It thinks it can sing too. In springtime They are on every rooftop, or high bough, Or telegraph pole, blithering away Discords, with cliches picked up From the other melodists…
From The Starling by John Heath-Stubbs
Despite the snap of cold weather, the starlings were out in full force today perched on the branches of crabapple trees – mostly hidden by the burgeoning pink blossoms. It seemed as if they were rehearsing a mixture of musical numbers and squeaky songs for a springtime premiere. They put a smile on my face!
How fresh the air, the birds how busy now! In every walk if I peep I find Nests newly made or finished all and lined With hair and thistledown, and in the bough Of little hawthorn, huddled up in green, The leaves still thickening as the springs gets age, The pink’s, quite round and snug and closely laid, And linnet’s of materials loose and rough; And still hedge-sparrow, moping in the shade Near the hedge-bottom, weaves of homely stuff, Dead grass and mosses green, an hermitage, For secrecy and shelter rightly made; And beautiful it is to walk beside The lands and hedges where their homes abide.
When doing my yard work today, I discovered two enchanting nests in the garden and hedge. I love that the very inner layers are filled with small down feathers and soft grasses, and, surprisingly, small pieces of cording that I recognize as coming from my clothesline!
One of the most glorious messes in the world is the mess created in the living room on Christmas Day. Don’t clean it up too quickly. Andy Rooney
When you are finally cleaning up the mess of ribbons and wrapping paper, be sure to save some of the gift tags. I treasure the ones I have collected since I was a child. My mother loved to use the front of beautiful note cards with images of winter such as those by Cornelius Kriegoff, A. J. Casson, and Roy McMurtry. She had beautiful penmanship and always wrote a sweet note to go along with the present. I especially love the gift tags given to me from my daughters – their early attempts at printing “Mommy” and their names are delightful!
Last year my gift tag theme was Christmas trees, but this year I decided to go with birds. I hope one of my children continues my tradition of not only saving the tags but of creating them as well.
Clouded with snow The cold winds blow, And shrill on leafless bough The robin with its burning breast Alone sings now.
The rayless sun, Day’s journey done, Sheds its last ebbing light On fields in leagues of beauty spread Unearthly white.
Thick draws the dark, And spark by spark, The frost-fires kindle, and soon Over that sea of frozen foam Floats the white moon.
I have been noticing robins on the branches of fruit trees on my walks through the neighborhood. Although the robin is usually thought of as a harbinger of spring, the December robin makes a delightful Christmas herald!
Satin & Sand 