Tender Grace

With loving thoughts of a beloved friend who passed into flight three years now and still as close as my own beating heart! Love you Robin!

Awoodlandrose's Blog

Tender Grace

softly braids

her long blonde curls

into a french twist

twined with wild violets

for butterflies and hummingbirds

to swirl and follow

every morning she feeds

songbirds from her hand

smiles at all her garden flowers

and while nodding gently to their fairies

she sprinkles star seed

for spiders to weave into their webs

Tender Graceis  forever grateful

to greet the day the same way

a spring bulb opens to sunlight

so very delicate the petals

yet so strong and resilient

the roots and green shoots

To be with her fills your heart

with gentle kindness

and a knowing that deep within

her seaglass blue eyes she sees

each and every living thing

as a reflection of her own very tender grace

“Forever grateful”  to Robin Elizabeth Anasazi  (1952-2012) whose soul and life was in essence that of ~ Tender Grace

ag ~ 2012

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A Moment

Let me enjoy this moment.

It’s just past daybreak Sunday early September.

In fact, it’s a late Labor Day weekend this year and
with the flux and flummish of school traffic starting,
beach trips ending and a flourish of block-party
bbqs – things are still all mixed up. The soft whirring
of crickets and bird choirs are the morning’s only
sounds and conversation. No leaves rustling, no heat,
no full sun yet – after a summer of only sun and barely
an occasional shower during the night.

I am propped up in bed (oh how deliciously derelict
for me – it’s almost 7 AM!) with only a trip to the
farmer’s market planned, a day at my easel and a new
composition notebook to write in with new graphite pencils.
The dog is still snuggled in her bed, still unaware
that her belly is empty and her bladder full. I was
going to check the weather on the internet but decided
what for?

“What for?” this moment?

A sketch, really a study an artist tacks up on
her wall or in her journal to show and allow that
the wonder of infinite possibility and creative play
really begins and lies in her own hand holding
a brush a pencil a pen a poem a stillness, a moment
and much much more.

 

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