Silence…

August 17, 2015

 Is what I long for

Of mind body and soul

Heart and knowing

Dreams and longing

Words and people

Cruel and mocking

This life I’ve lived

through the years

a little happiness

though many tears

Someday the silence

will come as relief

Still God will laugh

as I’ve sown what I reap

He’ll laugh and mock

at my bitter end

my life was naught

but a blowing wind

died out among

the trees so bare

never real living

a day here, a day there

and now with silence

I no longer care

copyright August 2015/R. Webb

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Morning Walk…

August 5, 2015

 Walking helps me when things start to press upon my mind and spirit. We all have things that bear down upon us, even though outwardly we continue to chin up and carry on. Occasionally, when replying to the standard greeting from the cashier of, “How are you?”, I’ll look them in the eye and state, “Lousy.” Watching their startled face and without missing a beat,I’ll break into a smile and assure them I just wanted to see their reaction. As of date, they’ve all been good natured, perhaps a bit pleased to not hear the mundane answer of, “I’m fine…” . It gives both of us a chance to see the other as persons outside the robotic role of cashier-and-customer-assembly-line.

At the park the baseball field is being mowed, tennis courts are occupied, and people on the green are swinging their clubs. Exiting my car with keys, cellphone, and umbrella, trees ,parking lots, and picnic tables are in view. I walk leisurely , taking in sights, smells, and movement. The umbrella shields my fair skin from the sun’s fierce smile in the already 83 degree temperature. 

 Looking across the road, I spot the large yellow Union Pacific boxcar.  I remember the one from my own small hometown park. It was as red as the wasps that built their nests in it every Spring and made you run when you entered their territory. Making my way towards the side of the stadium, I look at the scattered tufts of grass and weeds poking their heads through the cracked asphalt. I wonder at them. Some withstood the toil of pushing and heaving their way to the surface, while others died a straw colored languishing.

Rounding the side, I start back. To my right, the increasing slope holds large gray rocks. Staring intently I see the recognition of a pastel drawing I made back in  high school art class. Did I somehow draw my young future before it happened? 

  My life, the drawing, and facing these rocks fit together. I search above them  and see them decrease the closer they come to the main road. They are replaced with earth and grass, which wave to me from above. No more rocks.

This is a strong symbol for me. I struggled to climb the rocks all those years. I finally see now. There is something beyond the rocks. There is soil, there is grass…even if not the most green, even if the earth is dry…the rain comes and replenishes both…and there is a road…one that I want to take beyond the rocks.