Thursday, December 24, 2015

December Writings...

The end of the year 2015 approaches, and for the month of
December, I have been using a lovely little booklet of writing
prompts, courtesy of Jacinta and Cyndi of "Snapdragon Journal",
an on-line literary magazine ( ). Faced
each day with a meaningful quotation and an equally-meaningful
question, I have been writing...sometimes a little, sometimes a lot,
always from the heart, and today, I'm sharing some of these
scribblings with you, dear reader. Merry Christmas, Happy Holiday,
FĂ©liz Navidad, Joyeux Noel.
The Year's Last Red Light
I stand in the last red light of the year,
watching as the almost-setting sun
paints the sky in glowing hues
aware that I have journeyed far and long
and wondering just how long
          sunset will last.
       wondering when the light will go
           and darkness come
        wondering if I will welcome it,
            embrace it, if I will find within
            its velvet folds, moonlight and the shining of
            a million million stars
            to light my way- my final journey's way.

Year's End
Old resolutions, un-met intentions, drift away
from the burning flames of year's end,
   spiraling skyward, to disappear and dissipate
   far out of reach of mind and heart
I let them go, and in the blest release
   I breathe again, deeply,
   inhaling newly-freshened air
   alive with possibility and hope.

Only I can
Creativity, that elusive muse,
Slips between the pinpoint and the page,
And even as I pursue her,
Her ephemeral being taunts me
From the edges of my seeking mind.
"Make space," she whispers. "Make time," she sings,
As the drumbeat of my longing heart
Chants, "Only you, you, you can do, do, do it."
And I startle awake, convicted by the truth...
     Only I can use the gift
     Only I, I, I can...

Must I write?
The voice has not called out for so very long,
that mysterious, demanding voice,
disturbing my sleep, forcing me to reach
for pen and paper, lest the images dancing
in the forefront of my mind slip away
before I can hold them fast.
The voice has been silent for so very long,
that wondrous, creative voice,
seemingly silenced by a  too-busy life,
by a need for rest which causes sleep so deep
that the images once dancing, one alive,
have hibernated, frozen far out of conscious reach.

Growing wings
I want to leap- or do I? really?
Is this, instead, my fallow time, my time to
    relish the safety and comfort
    of my cocoon, confident that,
    safe within its shell,
I am growing iridescent wings?

From darkness to light...
The darkness of Advent
     holds and comforts me,
Pregnant, as it is, with
     the promise of new life.
The birth of the Light,
     illuminating my way into
     the creative hope of the New Year.

Here I am...
I. Am. Here.
Now. Fully. Present.
At age seventy-three- almost seventy-four-
sitting in my comfortable blue living room,
watching the struggle of the sun to pierce through
gray rainclouds and give celestial light to the day...
my day... my mostly-mundane day,
with errands ahead and paying bills and
answering mail and, eventually, sitting before my fireplace
with a cup of tea and a good book.
Fully present in my lovely, aging life...
and my heart overflows with thanks.
Providence is the faith that nothing can prevent us from
fulfilling the ultimate meaning of our existence. Paul Tillich

"Ultimate meaning"?
Such momentous words,
carrying, as they do, the weight of importance,
the heaviness of a dusty tome
hidden in the dark recesses of a library's
research section and available only for
perusal on a well-scarred wooden table,
overseen by a be-spectacled, razor-thin gentleman
who seems certain of my intent to abscond with
his precious volume.
"Ultimate meaning" carries with it
such depth of responsibility, far more than
I am willing to shoulder on this winter's day,
when the simple joy of cardinals at the feeder
and carols on the radio and thoughts of family
and friends seem definition enough,
supply my meaning, ultimate or not.
December melancholy
The melancholy of December
Settles in around me, bringing-
As it does- remembrances of bygone days,
Of Christmases past
When they were all here,
The beloved ones- now gone, I know not where
Or why, only that I remain, pain-filled and
Hurt-scarred, yet strangely, peacefully, alive,
Still draining every drop from
The cup of life's glorious wine.

Christmas Letter
Dearest ones- friends, family, and those still to come,
You fill my heart and life with
Tenderness and joy, with hope and meaning.
Without you- each uniquely special one-
I would not be just who I am right now-
This independent, loving, determined, caring,
Opinionated, laughing person, for you have been
The potters of my malleable clay, incarnations all
Of the Divine Love in which we live and move and
Have our being. You are my life- past, present,
And future- and you have my love.

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