as the land holds stories unfold in garden voices
Month: September 2015
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!
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
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.
