One Last Rose

“

Dreams may fade and wilt but  Hope springs eternal.                        ~ Alexander Pope

”

                                                                                               

One Last Rose

White petals,

like softly falling snow:

shroud summer's blossoming dreams.

Sunny with a CHANCE of Rain (Or Why I Shouldn't Worry)

Some days the weatherman should look out the window. That’s what many of us may say to ourselves on the mornings when we hear their chipper voices advise that we might want to bring out an umbrella if we plan to venture forth, only to peer through the curtains and be greeted with a bright, cloudless day. Sometimes it seems they get it wrong more often than right. How many times have we been promised a big snow storm, dreaming of a snow day, and then wake up the next morning to a pitiful dusting of flurries? Or have a perfect beach day, all planned ahead of time, be ruined by a torrential downpour? But I would never blame a meteorologist. You can study data and make predictions for all you’re worth but it never guarantees a perfect forecast. It’s just a fact of life.

 I think many people’s biggest problem, myself included, is that we try too hard to see what’s ahead. We want some assurance that we’ll be prepared for what’s to come.  That’s why we worry and try to plan for the unknown. But it would never do to carry our “umbrellas” with us everywhere we go. Trying to predict what happens next only holds us back and weighs us down. It clouds our vision so to speak. If we are too intent on figuring out the forecast for our own life, we miss the beautiful day that is right in front of us.

Wishes upon Hardened Sand

Today the beach offered one of Life’s great mysteries. What if we could write the burdens of our hearts upon the sand and watch the waves wash them away? Would we then be satisfied? Or would they just be buried, waiting to be rediscovered? Regrets, half-debts and unrealized dreams:  sometimes they seem to number more than the grains that make up the ocean’s shore. I’d gouge the words into the packed, damp granules, digging them deep. It would be a never-ending task, one that would threaten to consume us like any hope etched on windswept landscapes. For here we are, chasing illusive breakers, hoping to quench humanity’s thirst for redemption. And how many people are just sitting, waiting for the waves to roll in?

But true peace is found in still waters.  

Vision Obscured

Shame is like a red hot curtain

It wears like a heavy cloak

And with it life’s a sweltering summer

I long for winter’s white.