The rains have arrived,
Remnants of the hurricane.
If I go outside and lift my face,
Will I taste the salt tang of gulf waters,
Hear the faint sound of Parlez Nous A Boire drift on the wind,
Catch the tantalizing scent of my father’s gumbo?
Or will I find the salt of tears cried by all who’ve lost,
Hear the shriek of a roof as it is torn away,
And smell the smoke from fires that cannot be quenched?
Nostalgia is easy for me,
For I am in the mountains and far from this devastation.
I am geographically lucky at the moment.
steam rises from the cup. consider these things
the cup shatters and the world explodes
celadon shards and tea float in the midst of primal debris.
chaos and noise and confusion
breathe, and then:
sit in silence,
sipping the usual cup of tea.
I rose before dawn in the late summer.
I sat on the porch outside my room.
The air was still and redolent with the salty musky scent of the bayou.
The bull frogs were still croaking from the night,
The crickets were chirping,
And a few birds had begun their morning calls.
I drank my usual Gunpowder Green in a hand-thrown mug
And realized I must make a trip to New Orleans soon.
I needed more tea.
How to delineate a life lived?
Let us use not temporal posts of days or years
But limn the finer measure
Of love given and received
Of kindness extended with a free hand
Of compassion shown in minute and larger ways
Of laughter shared with those around.
Choose to see joy
And continue to delight in our communal dance.
Early morning, a liminal time,
When the tenebrific skies seem poised
On some obscure threshold.
The air is quiet;
No birds yet sing to herald the day;
No wind or rain disturbs the transitory stillness.
The moment awaits any assignation of meaning.
For a brief few breaths,
The world is simply as it is.
My grey-cloaked companion has returned,
Their absence but a brief hiatus.
They have brought the usual accoutrements:
Worsening fatigue and malaise; a restless mind; heightened bodily aches;
And, of course, emotional pain.
I dared not think they would not be back
At some point in time.
But I had hoped to enjoy life a bit longer.
Change is the nature of things, though,
So I will endeavor to face this with equanimity
And continue on my path.
What is enough?
The cooler air of evening
After the heat of a summer’s day.
The petrichor that heralds
The relief of a dry spell.
The bright color of tigerlillies
Enlivening the yard.
The peace found in mountains
Distant with a covering of smoke.
Any of these.
All of these.
Let us rejoice and be glad.
There is you and there is me.
There is division.
Look deeper.
There is illusion.
What you thought was a warning,
A hand held up high,
Is in fact a greeting of welcome.
Perspective changes everything.
Open your mind.
Expand your heart.
You still live on.
Not in some celestial hall,
Separate from those you left behind,
And watching them go about their lives.
No, you remain present
In the stories we tell of you,
Among those who knew and loved you.
And you will reach strangers even yet,
As these are shared,
And people see your name to ask,
Who was this?
While we are here to remember and tell
And all those who come after us who have heard,
You will live.