![IMG_1431[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/img_14311.jpg)
Angels leave their fingerprints,
on morning skies while I snooze.
Reminders that, though bodies have gone,
connections to souls we never lose.
And while I sit and ponder those,
who were taken in their prime,
my heart is filled with silent sadness
and a yearning to turn back time.
But their hands gently hold my heart
mending the chronic ache,
and they leave their fingerprints upon the sky
for me to gaze upon when I wake.
Wooden walls around a big kitchen,
a man in jeans and bare feet,
dinner is cooking and the wine is poured.
This is where I want to exist.
The room is my refuge,
the food is my sustenance,
but he is my home.
His fingers slowly graze my arm
and he reaches for my hand.
We sip our wine,
the conversation dwells on nothing
but never seems to stop.
The world outside of this moment
may continue to exist,
but my world is here,
in this moment,
with a man in jeans
and bare feet.
My walls crumble
and I sink in sand that is unforgiving.
Illusions surround me,
confound me.
The core of our existence,
carved from the same sorcery.
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The pull was strong.
Celestial light enveloped me,
suspending me.
But I couldn’t leave.
As much as we promised,
and wanted to be together forever,
our unborn child deserved life.
I inhaled,
my hand slipped from yours
and the light was gone.
I wanted to leave piece of me behind,
something so unique to me,
that you would remember me
once I had gone.
I don’t want you to doubt
whether I was ever here
in the first place.
I want my imprint
etched into your brain,
so you know that I once was,
and always will be,
a part of your existence.
I left the ghost of me to remain
long after I had gone,
marking the place
that I once held in this world.
I may appear in several ways,
in the most unusual places,
but always know
that I have left a piece of me behind
for you to notice
just when you miss me the most.
~~
I saw this photo on Twitter (@ChicagoProblems) and immediately thought of how loved ones try to send us messages after they have passed. They never drove a jeep but my mom and dad do send us indications that they are still with us in spirit. And Mom and Dad, if you reading this, White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit.
Although our Canadian Thanksgiving has come and gone, I came upon this post I wrote at the beginning of my blogging journey and I wanted to share it again. May my friends south of our border feel as many thanks as I do each year during our celebration.
My family is a collection of characters. They are as unique as snowflakes. No one member is remotely the same but they are all intelligent, articulate, thoroughly amusing and fun to be around. There is never a dull moment at the cottage when the relatives are in town.
With our hectic lifestyles and spanned locations, we don’t get to see each other as often as we used to when I was a kid but that just makes holidays and get-togethers that much more special. Since it is Thanksgiving weekend, we gathered once again to celebrate the holiday and enjoy each others company. The stress of life and all of the troubles that we face during the day seem to melt away when the family reunites and nothing else matters except the people who embrace you when you walk over the threshold of the door to the family cottage. The outside world ceases to exist and laughter and love wrap themselves around our family members like a warm security blanket. The food is abundant, the conversation is easy and the feeling of love is overwhelming. There is nothing more important than family. We can be thankful for all of our possessions, our jobs, our wealth, but all of those things are replaceable. Family is not.
Thanksgiving is a time to truly reflect on what is most important in our lives. I am certainly thankful for my health, having a job that I love, co-workers that I admire and respect and possessions and a home that I truly appreciate. But I am most thankful for the branches on my family tree that continue to envelop me and wrap themselves around me when I need them the most.
With each passing year, the trunk of our family tree grows stronger and it roots itself more firmly in the soil of our existence. That tree has weathered many storms but still manages to endure the bad times as well as flourish in the good times. Its bark remains tough but the core of our family tree still remains tender and nurturing.
As seasons come and go our family tree continues to thrive. I am thankful for my ancestors who planted the original seed. I am thankful for my family members who have passed and still hold roots in my tree. And I am abundantly thankful for the family who continue to create branches on that ever-growing tree.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you all take a moment to give thanks for the things that are truly important in your lives.
Dusk descends. The deep blue of the night sky edges its way into darkness and evening begins to fall. Stars mottle the nightscape and any heat the earth consumed during the day is slowly released back into that vast open space. The long spindly finger of Old Man Winter begins to caress the world and the cold enters everything it touches. Trees snap and groan in their defiance of the stinging night air and animals have long since retired to the protection of their dens.
The smallest portion of exposed skin is ambushed by the cold and is threatened by the gnawing jaws of frost bite. It hurts to breathe but the beauty of a cold winter night is unparalleled. The sky seems anxious to introduce every star in the milky way without the intrusion of clouds and the silence is deafening.
This is my winter. These are the nights that I am drawn into the cold for the sole purpose of watching the stars put the sun to bed for another night. I tilt my head back to take in the constellations and wait for a shooting star. This is life in my Northern town. This is the pastel portrait that saturates my brain before I go to sleep.
![IMG_2402[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/img_24021.jpg)
It is a monochromatic day,
and in its stillness
beauty speaks loudly.
![IMG_2404[1]](https://polysyllabicprofundities.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/img_24041.jpg)
With all of the negativity that has been thrown haphazardly around the myriad of social media, the timing of our 3rd Annual Toy Drive at the lodge couldn’t have come at a better time for me.
For anyone who has ever done anything nice for someone, you know what an astounding feeling of satisfaction you get knowing that you made a difference or at least made someone smile. Random acts of kindness, whether large or small, create a ripple effect that we need to send back into this world.
I’ve written before about “paying it forward”. It is a concept I truly believe in and one this Earth could really use right now. You may think that buying someone in the line behind you at the drive-thru a simple cup of coffee may seem like nothing, but that person may turn around and donate $50.00 to a charity that may help a family have a real turkey dinner at Christmas. For each kind wave sent into this world, the ripple of that kindness swells into bigger rings on the pond of our life.
I took our first few monetary donations into a local shop and bought the first toys for our Toy Drive today. It made me feel happy and it made me feel hopeful. That spirit of giving still exists within each one of us. Whether it is a donation for a charity or merely a kind word to someone who could use a smile, kindness begets kindness.
It is easy to lose sight of the simple niceties with all the fear and anger being broadcast on every news station around the world. It is understandable that our anxiety and apprehension are clouding our vision and not allowing us to remember the kindness we have been raised to feel and to share. I am thankful that I have been made aware that tolerance and humanity still exist and I am extremely grateful that I continue to comfortably tread water in the sea of optimism.
I am reminded of the line from ‘It’s A Wonderful Life” ~ every time a bell rings, an Angel gets its wings. Perhaps we can bring that thought process down from such an ethereal level and just hope that every time a kind act is performed, a small piece of hatred dies.
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