Childhood

When I was a child I would wait for the first fresh snow to cover the forest floor.
I grew up in Maryland and loved the crisp winter air and snow flakes that melted on my cold red cheeks.
My dad would insist upon us taking a walk through the thick wooded area across the street.
Excitement grew in my body as I dashed around the house. I needed my warm jeans and cozy long sleeved shirt.
My mom would help me into my pink puffy snow outfit and little snow boots. I looked like a little snow angel my dad would say. I thought I just looked like a marshmallow but my dad saw me as his little girl and I was always his angel puffy pants or not.
Jumping off of the front stoop and into the snow was my favorite part. I loved the crunchy feeling under my boots.
We always took the same little path through the woods.
As a child my dad was my hero and no matter how old I get and where I move to he still will be.
We strode along daddy's little angel and little girl's hero.
What a team we made.
Stomping through the snow and looking at the tracks of deer who had scampered deep into the woods.
I always tried to tip toe slowly in hopes to see a deer but I guess my excitement got the best of me and I always ran full speed ahead leaving little chance of seeing the deer.
My dad told me stories of when he was a kid and I told him everything I knew about myself.
Here, deep in the woods,
On these snowy winter days,
A great bond was formed between my dad and I,
I owe it all to the graceful snowflakes

[Image:http://www.canvaspicture.com/ekmps/shops/i4design/images/nt5024.jpg]

The Journey

The Journey
by Mary Oliver

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice - - -

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

'Mend my life!'

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations - - -

though their melancholy

was terrible.It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice,

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do - - - determined to save

the only life you could save.

Response:

I feel a deep connection with these words. It is almost as if she knows me. My life always seems so hectic and people around me are too demanding. I often forget to do what I need to do. I often forget who I am and fade into the background. I need to rise above the chattering voices around me and learn who I am. Learn who I can be. Learn to be me. The trick is to allow the voices to fade into the background and allow myself to come to the forefront. Allow me to be a priority. Work for myself, be myself. I know how difficult it is to explain to people why I am doing what I am doing. So I won't. I will go it alone and not fall into the trap of explanation. I will be me for me. Who will be here until I die? Who will be by my side when the worst occurs? The only answer is me. So I must protect who I am in order to stay strong. I must face the world as if nothing can stop me. I will listen to the voices around me but not let them control me. Who am I without myself? It sounds so strange to ask that question, yet I live as if it doesn't matter who I really am. Sometimes I am only a reflection of my surroundings. Like a mirror hung on the wall and manipulated by the changing scenery.

I am ready to learn who I am, not learn what other people want me to be.

Siamese

Deep glassy blue eyes.
Transfixed on a tormenting bird,
Sitting so still in a tree.
Chirping, teasing.
Siamese watching and waiting.

Little mewing comes from his mouth.
Paw stuck in the screen.
Oh to hunt and play he thinks.
Oh to be in that tree.

Black mask and little white boots.
Looking like a bandit.
Sits and waits.
Tail twitching, back straight.
Sits and waits.

So elegant and regal,
Yet a hunter to his very core.
Growling and moaning.
"Let me out" he cries.
"Let me climb the tree"
"I will return bearing gifts for my master"

A trustworthy friend. A loving companion.
A hunter who sits in the window.

Dusty Path

Feet shuffling along this dusty path.

Pebbles shooting ahead at the mercy of my feet.
Little grass blowing along the trail.
Windy road for miles ahead.
Mind drifting like the clouds above.

Sheep graze on a distant hill.
Ducks waddle and plop into the lake.
vultures swoop above looking for a corpse.

Dust fills the air. Clouding the trail.
I still know where I am going.

Stop at a large rock.

Little humming bird has found sweet blossom.
Hovering, wings a blur.
Delicious nectar.
Needled beak sips.
Iridescent feathers change with the suns rays.

Little ladybug scales thin grass.
Swaying with the breeze.
Legs dance upon the weed.
Wings raise, ladybug leaves.

Dusty trail leads me to tracks.
Train tracks, a trestle.
North to South.
Passing past the dusty trail.
Hastily taking in the scenery.
Gone, gone into tunnels.

Along steel tracks.
Nothing like the dusty trail.
Works day and night.
Rumbling, Rumbling.
Train is coming.
Out of the way, down the hill.
Watch as the train passes.
Noisy, disruptive.
Wonderful and strong.
Set in a trance I watch it disappear.
Leaving me with chirping birds and swaying trees.

Missing the excitement, the noise.
A void. It passes. I move on.

Back on the dusty trail.
To a pond.
A fisherman casts a line.
Waiting for the fish to take the bait.
Waiting, Waiting.
I never see the tugging.

Time to move on.
To follow the dusty trail,
Back to my busy life.
Away from my quiet thoughts.
Back to school, Back to class, Back to Life.

[Images: http://santalucia.sierraclub.org/StennerCrk.html]