It’s All Downhill from Here

colored pencilGhoulish Delight

I rustle my hands in taloned glee

Because the deadly recipe

From neither pots nor spoons nor pans

But sort of cauldron-cooked began

To boil and burble, burn and bake

And make a horrid bellyache

In which I openly rejoice

From the bottom of my heart at the top of my voice

Since it eats at the spot whence woe betides

I mean, my enemy’s insides

I hate to admit that it drives me nuts

How I loathe the cretin’s creepy guts

So I will make like a fleet of moles

And bore them full of a flock of holes

Filling me full of ironic glee

And comeuppance for him who so bores me

Since that’s why I really stayed in school

To grow up and be a bad little ghoul

And lest you forget yourself, sneer or scoff

Be nice to me or I’ll bump you offcolored pencil

So Soon Begins the End

Upon my word! This is a fix

I never thought to find me in–

at least not find for five or six

more decades, when my hair’d grown thin

and belly fat, and joints grown weak

and brain grown mushier than it had

been yet, but I age as we speak–

so rapidly–why, this is Bad!

I never dreamed that I would age

before a hundred years or so,

and then, at most, to turn more sage;

oh, this is a grubby way to go!

Sunday Sun Day

Moving past the winter equinox and the ensuing lengthening of daylight’s hours bring with them a subtler grace along with that of the elongated waking time. With the natural increased light can come a lightening of spirit that is a welcome internal forerunner of the earth’s return to Spring. So it is for me, today.

drawing/digital image

Sleepers, Awake!

On the morning’s southeast drive, through familiar freeway worlds newly cleansed and made somehow forgivably softer by the recent rains, we were no longer suspended in the grey soup of overcast, mist and downpour but immersed instead in a palely pearly, glowing haze lit by the hot orange disk of a flat new sun. Every shadow seemed gentler and sparkled with morning-flitting birds. The quiet of the early time was both more welcoming and more profoundly silent in its way.

I found these same things filled me up, as well. Inwardly smiling on the world like a lesser peaceful sun, I felt a contentment long dormant begin to cradle my being again, singing subtle comfort and bidding me to a meditative state almost forgotten in recent harried weeks. Perhaps my winter is drawing to a close.

Surely the appearance of washing and nourishing rains and the following benison of the returning sunlight makes it easier to turn a kindly eye to the rest of the world. The peeping pairs of seedling leaves in planter and flowerbed renew my sense of living in a sweetly Possible world. The growing days teach me to be more patient–what must be accomplished, somehow, will.

I know as well: if I choose, I can relearn my inward calm, reclaim my lighter self. I can return to that place of familiarity where I fit in, and welcome others too, and start the long, slow, happy climb from winter’s night into the daylight of my springtime soul. Ever so gently and gradually so. Sun or no sun, the inner light can glow again if I tend it thoughtfully and wait.

digitally doctored drawing

The familiar comfort of inner contented calm can return . . .