Autumn is ….

A tang filling the air;

A haze shrouding the peaks;

A beam of sunlight igniting leaves to flaming glory;

Pumpkins send ing their cheery color through farms and porches;

The carpet under trees that lose their leaves becoming a coat of many colors for the earth.

And

My mind turning to memories of home, friends, of love.

And gathering the warmth of sweaters, the hearth and love around me.

Autumn is a cozy season when the earth slows to gather its juices

For the rejuvenation of my spirit and then spring.

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what is Christmas?

Christmas for me has always been a time of magic.

It’s a time when peace is on the lips of all – even when it’s in the actions of just a few.

The season is a period of joy and quiet, or even exuberant, happiness as the timeless tale of the nativity is told again or viewed through the eyes of children..

Did you see that sheep lose it’s place. It happens all the time in pageants. And towels only look like headdresses at Christmastide.

It’s Christmas trees, the Tannenbaum of Germanic lore, and bright lights glimmering and silver bells ringing.

Christmas is the manger with a donkey and a camel as well as Santa Claus kneeling in front of it.

The holiday is also a holy day.

It’s a time of reflection (all of us should do as Mary did and ponder many things in our hearts).

It’s a time of giving, the one time of year that people try to think of others more than themselves.

It’s family, those that gather round the fire or the Bible and those in far-off places who gather with us in our memories and imaginations. It may also be crying babies and squabbling adults. But it doesn’t really matter. We’re all in it together.

Children all pray for snow, a glistening whiteness covering all the dreary darkness of the world.

What I like most about Christmas is that it’s a time of new beginnings: We have another chance to be the best we can be.

Let’s try it out this year.

Building memories

(This poem was written on the occasion of a July trip to Florida, the first real trip my mother has taken in more than five years.)

We’re building memories as we go –

My mother and I.

We drive together. We talk a little

And laugh a little.

We remember days past

When I was a child and

She was young

We look forward to future trips –

Short ones and longer ones.

She’s proud that at 96 she can survive 1,500 miles in a car

A little thing like a short hospital stay

Doesn’t knock her out.

It can’t. You see –

We’re building memories.

— Jenny Munro (Aug. 7, 2013)

 

To Mark: Forever 6

balloons2

Red and yellow, green and blue, pink and white – the balloons float up to Heaven

Through rain and sunshine, clouds and wind.

They begin their journeys in Florida and Rhode Island, South Carolina and Massachusetts, even Washington, D.C. But they all end in Heaven with Mark.

Those bits of rubber, air and color each honor the youngster, showing him he had family he’d never met – sisters, aunts and uncles, cousins, even his mother (whom of course he knew) and a stepfather.

A person’s life and worth is not measured in years but in love.

Mark is rich in that.

(His mother holds a balloon launch on the date of his birthday every year.)’

Death is coming

A time for death

If you’ve been told you have two to four weeks to live, what would do you do?

My cousin told her daughter she wanted a lemon pie so her whole family could eat together one more time.

What would you do?

I’d write all those letters I’ve put off.

I’d call my family and tell them I love them.

I’d sit outside, or watch the glories of spring through a window.

I’d listen to the birds chirp and the leaves rustle.

I’d bring back all the good memories and hold them close.

I’d banish every bad memory I have.

And I hope I’d think of the adventure I am heading toward.

No one knows what death is like. Soon I’d know.

—————–

I wrote this shortly after hearing that the doctor told my cousin she has about that amount of time left.

I am

I Am

I am — a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a granddaughter, a niece, a cousin.

I am — a woman, a dreamer, an explorer, a writer, a traveler, a doer.

I am … one of a kind, one of many, a bit of star dust, a moment in time, a particle in the universe.

I am … an artist, an excavator, a beam of light, an idea, a committee member.

I am … a student, a walker, a reader, a homeowner, a graduate (of many schools and lessons).

I am …. a worker,  a flower lover,  a photographer, a poet, a reporter, a wordsmith.

I am … a collector of teapots, family letters, books, salt and pepper shakers and carved eggs.

I am … a cleaner, a creator, a decorator, a lover of all, a swimmer in oceans, lakes, rivers and words.

I am … a volunteer, a friend, a caretaker, a gift-giver, a picker up of the pieces.

I am … a mover, a shaker, an experimenter, a collector of frogs, a lover of many things old and a some things new.

I am … a retiree, a reacher for new experiences, a tea drinker, a dieter, a cook.

I am — one with the world, a seer of visions, a teller of tales, a knitter of memories, a repository of hopes.

I am … ME.