Rage against the dying of the light

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Swallowtail-Butterfly-on-Lilac-Blossom

The perfect evening sky

is painted by the swaying branches

that continue to brush blue into the waning day.

A cool breeze

carries the scent of the lilacs.

 Dusk approaches,

but day fights for its last moments

before the fireflies seize the night.

 Leaves dance in the wind,

laughing as they are tickled by the currents of spring.

A lone butterfly

floats on the updrafts,

silently raging against the dying of the light.

The sun pulls up the blanket of the horizon,

golds and yellows caress the trees one last time

and the day succumbs

to the sleep of night.

(image credit)

Yes, I can see it. No, I’m not neurotic.

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I’m a cloud watcher.  I can only sunbathe for so long before I feel like I will spontaneously combust (thank you blood pressure medication) so I move my overheated body under the canopy of my deck umbrella and watch the clouds go by.  They never cease to amaze me.  Whether it is the pattern in their wisps or the shapes I see in their billowy contours, I can cloud gaze for hours.

I have not been able to watch the clouds lately,  however, because the sky has been a solid, monochromatic grey.  Perhaps because I am so accustomed to looking beyond what I really see, recently I have been seeing faces in the strangest locations.

This morning I rolled over, still shaking off the remnants of my slumber, and faced my closet.  A shirt that was at the top of the laundry basket was piled in such a way that the aged face of a man stared back at me from the shirt’s folded elbow.  For some reason, I couldn’t avert his keen focus on me and I stared back with the same intensity.

He seemed familiar to me.  And this is not the first time I have discovered a genial visage in a random place.  It happens more frequently than I should probably admit.

I have since discovered that this phenomenon has a name – Pareidolia.  There are many people, like me, who have the ability to see faces or animals in a benign object.  An extreme example is the woman who sold a 10-year old grilled cheese on eBay for $28,000.00 because it supposedly had the image of the Virgin Mary on it.  Some people see a cinnamon bun below, others see Mother Teresa.

mother-teresa

(image credit)

Whatever the reasoning behind this strangely named anomaly, the writer in me enjoys the visits from these odd characters.  I’m sure one day they will insert themselves into a story line somewhere along my writing journey and I will be grateful for their intrusion into my reality.

Time for audience participation – cinnamon bun or Mother Teresa?

Never let me go

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otters

I held you in a dream.

You became a part of me,

as if my body never ended

and you were merely

an extension of me.

And though I felt like I was floating away,

you were there

to pull me back to you,

to hold me in my slumber,

to keep me in your embrace,

to never let me go.

(image credit)

**I saw a video of these otters slowly drifting apart and coming back together.  They inspired this poem.

Spark to a flame

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fire butterfly

My curiosity ignites.

My burning question is nourished

purely by the fuel of my deep desire

to know,

to experience,

to feel the brush of romance

on the canvas that is my skin.

My heart burns

with a yearning

to find you.

~~

microstories261

(image credit)

Optimism is contagious

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I’ll admit I stole my subject line from a Maxwell House commercial but it is an adage that resonates with me.  One of my goals for the year 2016 was to start every day with a positive attitude.  It’s going to end as well as it began – successfully optimistic.  Some days are more difficult than others to maintain that joyful outlook but, even under the stress that lurks in the dark corners, I still look for and embrace that light of optimism.

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It’s really not difficult waking content and rising to meet the morning when the light streams through my curtain-free window and falls on the face of my dog.  She is notably glad to see me come back into consciousness and her smile is the first breath of happiness I inhale each morning.  The smell of Hazelnut Vanilla coffee brewing is a vital, but distant, second.

Attitudes are contagious and energy can be vicariously passed, similar to an unseen as a spirit moving through the shadows, and the vital force it leaves behind is just as palpable.  It is constantly but invisibly lingering in the air and the mood that is portrayed is unconsciously absorbed by others.  I know how much a person with a negative energy can affect me and I want to achieve the polar opposite.

Wouldn’t it be great to feel that optimism and zest for life is contagious and it is passed unwittingly to the people you interact with on a daily basis?  They may not even realize the source of their uplifted spirit but their newly found smile has the potential to create a ripple effect.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.  ~Winston Churchill

The mosaic of a life

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My drive to work each day is relatively stress-free compared to most commuters.  I have a 10-minute journey through a small, quaint little town and the traffic in the winter is minimal at best barring any unforeseen wildlife charging through an invisible cross-walk.

This relaxing drive affords me the time to look around and absorb the nuances that make me appreciate the fact that this town is my home.  Like all towns, Port Carling is steeped in rich history and tradition and we are proud to boast those memories in our Museum as well as through unique artist renderings.  In 2005, “The Wall” was unveiled and, at the time, it was the largest historic photo mosaic mural in the world.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

(image credit: muskokalakes.ca)

This tribute to history contains 9,028 individual photos that bring to life the 1922 RMS Sagamo going through the locks in Port Carling.  These photos span a century from 1860 to 1960 and yesterday, for some reason, this mosaic really struck a chord deep within me.  I have passed it every day on my way to work and never took the time to truly comprehend how snapshots of occurrences in our lives can create such a grand picture of our past.

So many little pieces of our history are used to make up our most significant memories. Stopping to look at this wall made me think of all the snippets that have etched themselves into my brain and have begun to create the mosaic of my life.  Some of those fragments in time are dripping with vibrant colors of happiness and others are mottled with the greys of anguish and grief, but all of those hues combine to create the spectral portrait of my life.   

If you were to create an emblematic picture of your journey, what would your mosaic look like?