Halfway There

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Half way there, living in the then and living in the now. As the Spring dances into Summer I get lost in the great what was, and the great what is. I want the sweet sting of sun kissed skin as thirsty late afternoon raindrops slap gently against the thick leaves of the magnolias. I want to smell the creamy blossom’s heady, sweet fragrance mixed with the salt tanged sea air rolling in off the beach. I want to tuck my legs under me on the porch swing and simply to daydream listening to the seabirds call in the endless expanse of the marshes. I want to hear the roar of thunder far off in the distance and feel in my untamable core the wild cracks of lightening hungrily licking a white capping ocean . I want the crisp feeling of sweat rolling down my chest and evaporating in the late afternoon’s gentle breezes, the tangy taste of lime, gin & tonic water and the light headed feeling I get when one enjoys such after day in the sun and sea.

I, who have watched the many colored Aurora glow and pulse over far mountain ranges on long cold winter nights as my soul danced far away in Spanish moss bedecked swamps under the full moon. I, who fell to my knees in a patch of new born grasses where the edge of Wyoming kissed the edge of Nebraska, giving thanks to the first point southward where the earth finally gave a spongy bounce to bare feet as she kicked off the vestiges of winters chill. I , who feels my pulse quicken like the embrace of a lover and a tear on my cheek when I roll across the mighty Mississippi and enter the rolling bluegrass country of Kentucky. I, whose heart lifts as I travel the twisting roads of Tennessee. I , whom is reborn when I breathe in the musky rhododendron scent of the Carolina Mountains.

Half way there, living in the then and the now. I miss the smell of chicken frying the kitchen and the musical laughter of the cooks echoing across the emerald lawn on a Sunday afternoon. Silk, linen and pearls. Fresh cut hay and horses romping in the new mown field. So maybe it’s time to forget the now and celebrate the then. I choose to be the woman who rides bare legged, barefooted, and bareback down red dirt country trails as the sun says goodbye for the night. I choose to be the woman who watches the tendrils of red dance from a strawberry in a chilled glass of chardonnay on a cool Mountain night and is mesmerized. I choose to be the woman who can pull a trout from the stream , cook it on the fire  and yet, still don silk and high heels to dance to night away. I choose to be the woman who knows the spells of the Gullah, the mysteries of the Cherokee and never forgets the innate magic of my Irish roots. I choose to be the woman who knows to scramble across the deck and tack sail as the squall approaches. So halfway there means another leg of the journey still to come. I am the woman who will take the best of then, make the most of now and never ever forget to enjoy the ride.

 

 

 

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Redoubt of the Spirit

12.3On a soggy rain soaked morning one cannot help but wonder where we all took a turn, Where we all forgot the joy in simplicity. The leaves have unfurled in the tender colors of springtime green and the birds dance from branch to branch in uninhibited joy. For the earth has been reborn after the winter’s long slumber and the light from the  glorious shimmering ball of warmth that is our sun once again kisses the earth awakening every seed and passion to spring forth in every beating heart and aspiring soul. Yet, we seem to have missed it. Somehow the simplicity of things remembered is always solace to those of us who seem to be tossing on this turbulent sea. Yeah, the warmth of the sun shining on your face as the dawn awakens, the smells of fresh cut grass and bacon frying in the kitchen. The gentle melodies of the birdsong from the forest, love, laughter and life. A sparkle in the eyes ,the surrender to unbridled passion, a warm breath on your neck and the coarseness of an unshaven cheek as you fall back onto sundried sheets in the strong arms of your lover, the rain beating on the roof , the scent of a morning’s sweat mixed with a crisp fragrance from the pines, and the intensity , the warmth of a long kiss. Letting the world drift away, in all its unmoored discontent. If only for a moment in time. Oh time , time the nemesis that stalks us through our days. I suggest we pull up for a moment and turn on this age old foe. For it is a vigilant stalker, one that must be met with swords drawn, eyes leveled and a fearless heart ready for the charge. I know that somewhere a young girl has felt the pulse of her first love, a young foal has run wide open its first day under the sky on a carpet of green, a wolf has howled at the never ending vista before him, and somewhere someone has simply said no more, turned off the lights, cashed the last check and headed out into the uncharted waters of life, free from the constraints with which this life roped and bound us. May that one be many, for it takes millions of raindrops to make the desert bloom, and deep in my heart I know that if this big old planet rang with peals of laughter and joy instead of cries of sadness and horror , and man’s soul was allowed to be free in pursuit of life , love and truth , she would shine brighter than the largest star in the Universe. I also know that there is not a God recorded in the history of mankind’s time here on the Earth, that would not smile, raise his hands in joy and say, my work here is done, looks like they got this. So hug your neighbor, dance in rain, walk in the mud and simply breathe, love,live and laugh. Be the rains that fall from the storm to this desert, because if this world does not soon bloom, she is going to wither and die.