Tag Archives: Beloved

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East Beach

I hiked East Beach on Marrowstone Island yesterday. The wind was howling! It was not warm, but I was dressed in a foul weather sailing coat and rain pants and hiking boots. Gloves and hat. Ready for spring, right?

It was beautiful. I was alone on the beach. I did slip once and bruised my left hamstring! How annoying. I should leave a dashboard note of which way I’ve gone.

I did find some agates. I did not stay out for more than an hour, too cold. I walked into the wind so I was warmed coming back. Here is the prettiest agate.

What a fabulous hike! I was glad I’d guessed right for outer wear. The beaches always feel ten to twenty degrees colder, especially when it was windy. Does Marrowstone Island qualify as an esoteric destination? At any rate, I love it.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: esoteric.

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Who, me?

I am Elwha.

I am not a poser. Mom looks at me and holds up the little box that obsesses her. I stop what I am doing. I am a dignified two year old adult cat, not some goofy little kitten. I let her take pictures and wait until her attention is elsewhere. Usually.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: poser.

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Soft my heart

Soft my heart forgives and lets go,
lets go of reconciling. We won’t. I won’t.
I have waited long enough. I forgive all
and I am done waiting. I let it all go and
walk forward into a different life.
The Sufis lead me: the teacher must judge when
the student is ready. I am not a teacher.
I am always a student. I want to learn
always and change. I let go. Farewell, my dears,
you still have my love but you do not have me.
I no longer care, I don’t long for your love,
I let you live your stuffed and twisted lives
in peace, without me importuning you,
to listen to think to grow with me
and you don’t want to so I am free.

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Written February 17, 2024. As with most of my poems, I don’t know how it will end until I write it. Poem as prayer. The ending surprised me, too.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: reconcile.

I don’t know who took the photograph. From left to right, my sister, cousin, me, cousin, taken at Lake Matinenda in Ontario, Canada.

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Flooded

Trigger warning: trauma and feelings.

I cry because
the laundry overflowed
the sewer blocked again
we might have to pull up the floor
and lay it down a third time
I hate the laundromat
water runs across the floor
as fast as the tsunami
crossing the fields
crushing the houses
catching the trucks
in Japan

I cry because
I have to ask for help again
Help comes
but the memories of asking
when it didn’t
help didn’t come
and I was abandoned or humiliated
rise up and overwhelm me
I am flooded
I am helpless
someone help those people
The shaking earth is bad enough
But the ocean rolling inland
Over all
Breaking all
Beams to toothpicks
Those are the memories that rise up
And flood me
I think of the soldiers
and victims of wars and disasters
and PTSD
tsunami
of memory

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Written before 5/2011. I have posted before, but couldn’t find it on a search. Posted today at a friend’s request.

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Heaven and hell

Hell is other people. Heaven too.
How much do you adjust for this person?
The one who is only available when I am damaged
a foul weather friend, unexpected,
busy with all the damaged around,
never time to play. This one hides much
and slips into denial like a familiar cloak.
I am sad. That one talks about others, ah, gossip
I hate it. This one has a blind spot I could
drive a truck through. I wonder why? I am curious.
I read that women are still expected to be responsible
for the house. They are praised or blamed if the home
appears perfect or a mess. I am clearing my main floor
to resemble this idea of what a house should look like
but reading that I wonder. Is it worth it? My decor
is packrat cat lady, though only two cats. No self respecting
burgler would come in as they would trip and fall,
over cats or stuff. Stuff on the stairs: I don’t care
and know that at 65 I will be counseled in my “free”
medicare wellness visit, that I’ve paid for through
all my working years, to make sure my house is uncluttered
reducing fall risk. Hell is other people and heaven too.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: hell.

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Numbers game

For Judy’s The Numbers Game #9: 130.

Photographs with the number 130. From small things to large. First, a butterfly. August, 2022, on a hike on Hurricane Ridge.

Biking on the east coast. I biked with my oxygen concentrator.

East coast forest, Maryland.

Back the Pacific Northwest. Snow on the north face in the Olympic Mountains.

Hurricane Ridge, looking southwest.

Hurricane Ridge again, layers of Olympic mountains and clouds.

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Mead Moon

Where does honeymoon come from?

Honeymoon. Perhaps from Hony Moone, Old English for the June full moon, called the Honey Moon or Mead Moon. There are other possible sources.

I took the photograph in June 2022. A crescent, not a full moon, but in the right month.

For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: honeymoon.

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Spring 2

My neighbor has tiny violas blooming in her grass, near the garage. I had a tax appointment in the morning yesterday so walked the cats around noon. The busier street by my house was noisy, so the cats headed for the neighbor’s yard, further from the cars. I don’t hold the leashes but keep a close eye. NO DIGGING, cats, at least not in the neighbor’s yard.

Little signs of spring. Spring still feels strange to me here, even after 24 years, because it is so long. We start in February but summer rarely arrives until July 4. And then it is very rarely hot. After summers in Alexandria, Virginia and Richmond, Virginia, it feels so odd to not be hot. Though my patients would complain when it’s 80 degrees and 60% humidity. “Hot and humid!” It is all relative. I have lived in quite cold areas, Wisconsin and Colorado, and fairly warm and humid in Virginia.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day.