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Thursday, January 19, 2012

Notes From the Raggedy Garden

I thought I could write this on my profile, but I wrote way too many words, so, here goes...I am a lover of the written word, a dreamer of dreams. I love babies, and babies that grow up. I love a hot cup of coffee and hard crossword puzzles. I love the night sky, the way Orion strides across it in the winter, the way the moon rises up over the water, the way the morning star is the only thing in the sky in that brief interlude between darkness and daylight. I like the smell of baking bread, a new mown lawn, and a just lit cigarette. I ache to the lonely call of a flock of geese, high in the twilight,  the sound of laughter in the night, the high happy sound of the children at play. I love the sound of church bells when they are playing hymns, the roar of a motorcycle, the boom and swell of the waves at the ocean. I like old linens, and fragile old china cups. I like blue enamel spatterware, smoky campfires, and water from a birchbark cup. I love the way the first tear wells up in a babys eye, and a road that curves, and surprises you when you get around the bend. I love blossoms on the fruit trees, colored leaves in the fall, the smell of lilacs, and the crunch of snow. I love the way the granite step stays warm after a day in the sun., the flicker of fireflies, and the smell of mint in the morning dew. I love the patina of worn silver in the candle light, the soft brilliance of the May sun, the sad,sad wail of the loon on a foggy misty night. I like the creak of leather, the sound of flip flops running on the dock, the gentle twitter of the bluebirds on the fence. I like the musty smell of the earth after it rains on the hot dry soil, the intricate weaving of the oriels nest, the way the sheets smell when thy have dried on the line. I love old memories, and the folks that tell them, I like the slap, slap of the water on the shore of the lake, and the laugh and gurgle of a brook. I would eat pacific coast salmon every day, if I could, and I like wild strawberries and blueberry jam.I like ancient old graveyards, with their orderly rows of saints and sinners washed white and clean by the wind and the rain and the sun.I love the smell of maple in the steamy sugar house on a frosty March morning.I love a little boy with dirty knees and a gap toothed smile, and a little girl with fairy wings , all crooked, and berry stained lips. I love a man who comes in the house smelling of hard work, and fresh air, and coffee, and a friend who shows up just when you need them the most.I love a hug from a sturdy teen age boy, the fresh lovliness of teen age girls, the breakable feel of a wrinkled old hand. I like to swing, soaring up over the day to day trivia, my feet pointing towards the heavens on a board and a chain. I love the smell and the feel of books, new crisp, unread ones, holding out to me who knows what, and musty, well worn old ones that have already given of themselves so many times.I like the ripple and play of the muscles on a strong mans arm, and the heartbreaking curve of a womans throat, the silky softness of a babys face,the pastel of  a summer sunrise, the way I choke up when I try to read the second chapter of Luke. " And God saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was good".Genesis 1:31   

1 comment:

  1. Takes my breath away - Thank you Sweet Annie, my friend.