Bits of something.
One never knows how many snow flakes it takes
before one lands on your nose.

art by nancy marie davis

Everyone and anyone who comes in contact with a child is minding the store. That child is in your hands. You are responsible. Every single thing counts. Love or hate. Acceptance or rejection. Attention or indifference. Everything becomes a part of them. You, having been a child, knows this is true. You remember the words and the people. It made a difference if you were shown love or respect. Stop putting children down. Stop making them feel unworthy. Stop yelling at them. Stop and look into the eyes and heart of the child. Love.

he makes us
makes us relent
bleed out
our own self
yearn for relief
our heart stops
hurting
never
from the nearness
this war
of spirit we are
ever
wanting
holding to death
unaware
we think we are done
when the war of dying
has just begun

I am not going to dwell on where I don’t fit in. And I am not going to feel sorry that I can not have who or what I would like to have. I am going to look at what people are, and what they are to me now. What they can be now. And I want to be happy with that. Not feeling sorry for myself, but instead feeling how very lucky I am to have people in my life at all.

i don’t own
a home
or steeple
and i depend
on the friend
in people
i am barely here
and sometimes there
like a ghost
slipping through a keyhole

❖

the sky was falling,
but it still looked blue.
the flower stood tall and pink.

what proof do i have?
it’s what i saw.

what i wanted to see.
the petals.
the miracle moment.

seeing

is not believing.
faith is not seeing.

love
is not enough
on its own.

✜

sunlight caught in the middle of tiny leaves
green flaming butterfly wings on black branches
feeling more like a new year than january ever did
the last breath of winter carried on the wind
i am in no hurry to plant or weed
or pay head to watering, sunscreen, or
hiding from the heat
i love a light breeze and lilacs showing purple

the words are old
feelings through the ages
we can make new words
we can make love
it will feel new

there
are little
somethings
along
the way

a little
goodness
to keep
you

a little
kick in the
pants

a little
kiss
smile
word
or
wink

a little
blink
in time

May 25, 1911 ~ November 13, 2012 . age 101

.

.

.

.

.

✜

I was on my way home, and as i came around the corner by the Allison, the sun broke through the grey clouds and lit up the drops of rain that were clinging to the red blueberry bush leaves. (The sun doesn’t shine much in the Yamhill Valley from the beginning of November until May.) I pulled the car over as far to the right as i could and parked the car. I didn’t capture that droplet shine except on the far right of the shot a bit. But i do like the layers starting with grass, blueberries, grass, hazelnuts (filberts), douglas firs, the hills and the clouds.

✜

To name a success, one would need to first believe that there exists something that actually comes to a conclusion.