Falling

Apples 

           falling 

                      into

                            baskets

                                        . . . . . 

Falling 

           onto

                  toasted 

                             bread

                                      . . . . . 

Leaves 

            falling 

                       to the  

                                 ground

                                              . . . . .

Falling 

            onto 

                   a grassy 

                                bed

                                      . . . . . 

The sky
              falling
                          into
                                  sunset
                                               . . . . .

Falling
           into
                  October
                                night
                                          . . . . .

Me
       falling
                    for the
                                  season
                                                . . . . .  amidst the bustle it can incite.
 

a ray of light

A ray of light

An instant in time 

Sunbeam and mirror collide 

A greeting in style

An elusive smile

Girl who couldn't catch it but tried 

What happens?

When your PopPop has MS

and takes a tumble

through the hospital 

and into a rehab center? 

When your Gramma has Dementia

and will stay with you 

for 2-4 weeks 

while he recovers? 

When it's week four of school 

and you have 

six-month-old puppies 

in ninety-degree heat? 

Walk the pups around the block 

Wonder why the leaves are already changing colors

Make tea, trying all three chai kinds in the drawer

Read on the patio swing in the shade, tea in hand and pups at play

Visit PopPop

Write 

Breathe thanks that solving the equation isn't up to you.

Fantastically Fearless Feet

Fantastically fearless feet meet this floor   

They flex and pointe  

and tendu and turn 

They are carried by music  

and to the beat they yearn 

This floor sits sturdily speaking safety

It is scuffed and hard 

and dirty and dented  

It welcomes movement 

and with trust is contented  

The feet fade into a greater fabric  

 They transform bruised and filthy 

 and scratched and strong 

But they have accomplished the magical feat  

of singing a silent song 

Happy dancing~ Megan 

What We're Waiting For

Peace emerges out of chaos

light out of darkness

hope out of fear

though minds may be quickened

 hearts are stilled 

as perfect love is drawing near 

It is the age old story 

set into action 

since eternity was put on hold 

and this advent

this coming of the Christ child

reminds us that it continues to be told

It is a rich tapestry

  our days woven together

 beauty despite knots scattered 

among all but one life

 thought no tangles can be found

for the master has always known what mattered

So we sit here and wait

content in His hands

 in awe of this life-giving power 

preparing for greatness 

ready to remember and rehearse

embracing our God at the appointed hour 

Blessed waiting to you~ Megan

Of Rivers and Time and Finding Peace

If life is

like a river, 

               crashing, 

                     dashing, and 

                                smashing, 

against the shores of time,

bending because of something greater, 

heading for something greater, 

searching for something greater, 

full of many colors and substances, 

diversity pulled together, 

could this fact that it is in a singular piece 

give someone, 

some peace?

Running Away

Last Tuesday evening we went to a visitation for a distant relative of mine. Trying to organize my thoughts about the time, I wrote this poem on the way home--

lines of people
with glistening eyes
smiling out of long faces
watching a slide show 
seeing a life lived well
and celebrating despite
the end

one lady leaves
her wheelchair-confined sister,
and comes to tell us that
her sister's very hours are numbered,
ticking fast, faster, fastest
but we all hear it
the sound of life
running away
and everyone hopes
that death is another word for
beginning.

I didn't realize it then, but I was really exploring the cycle of life and death while writing this. While I am thankful for both and the way they link together, I am especially grateful for what is here, now. . .

396. flowers on our porch

397. one tree lost through tornado warnings and thunderstorms. Sad, but replaceable.

398. my sisters, a friend of ours, and me staying home alone and watching a movie while our parents went out to dinner

399. nothing broken when a picture fell from our walls while we were watching the movie (it felt very dramatic, as it fell during a chase scene)

400. sisters "consulting" each other as they have new ideas for our Barbie area in the basement

401. "New York Barbie" designing

402. life pushing through

403. a fire pit in our backyard

404. plans for smores tonight

405. the first trip of the season to the swimming pool

406. light bouncing under water

407. green leaves flourishing

408. dancing free

409. explorations through Paris

410. ancestors, history, and something worth celebrating

May you never run too fast to enjoy the moment~ Megan

One Wild Moment

Youngest Sister plays downstairs
Grapefruit dances on my tongue
I am savoring the moment, the break
Poetry goes through my head
Just a couple lines studied yesterday
About paths and ways and life
I wonder about today

Middle Sister asks what I am doing
A pen now in hand
Above a piece of paper
"I am writing," I say
Not a satisfying response
She is ready to leave
Then I add, "A poem"

The poem has neither rhyme nor rhythm
Even though I love rhymes
Maybe I am looking for a rhyme
Something to hold the day together
Youngest Sister wants me to play
Sentences need to be diagrammed
And yet I am here

The clock steadily ticks
Warning of passing time
I remember again the poems
About way leading on to way
One step, tick, moment at a time
I am choosing what to do
With my one wild and precious life


The poems about ways leading on to ways and precious life: "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost and "The Summer Day" by Mary Oliver 


~Megan

Swirl of Footsteps

 Surrounded by a swirl of footsteps

Walking in the snow

I am overwhelmed 

Not knowing where to go 

Surrounded by a swirl of footsteps 

I try to decide

Do I make my own path

Or let others be my guide

Surrounded by a swirl of footsteps 

Focused on the ground

I finally look up

   And see where to be found

 May you have successful steps this weekend~ Megan