In The Glow of Autumn (when we fell)

Love fiercely, and expect that few will do the same in return…
This thought ran through my head…
tandem or inspiration?
Maybe both?
all the while, the sunlight hit your golden hair
all aglow and resplendent
at the peak of sunset on that cold October eve.
My heart leapt
as nature itself seemed to call out
that exception,
that ‘few’ kindred hearts…

I, transfixed, tried to close my mouth
like some dumb ox of a man
slipping and tripping head over-heels
helplessly, heart-sick with
wild devotion’s spell
which had cast its power

deftly upon me.

And having seen you there,
those words that had spilled from my mind
were now void of truth or solace.
New phrases welled up within me
feelings that defied words
far beyond their containment…
and I, awestruck by your visage there,
leaned in and shared that moment
with you…
all the while, determined to freeze time
capture it in a bottle
that is my heart
and pray they it continues to shine
into the very depths of my soul.

This Old House…Peeling back the paint

Image

Sometimes recalling certain memories can be like peeling the paint from an old weathered house.  You know the old house needs it, it’s crying for it and yet the whole facade will change.  Peeling back the paint will remove the years of character and sometimes charm, but underneath it all you know the walls need to breathe, to be set free, and sometimes the old paint holds moisture in, green and molding smelling ripe like mildew.  All unseen by the naked eye without the begrudging labor of the paint peeler.

Withholding our memories, holding them at arm’s length, quivering like a lost puppy who whimpers and shies away from everything including a loving hand, we fear what we will find underneath it all!   We fear that others will be horrified when the truth is revealed…memories are like prison bars and razor wire fences.  We’re a captivated audience of one, too afraid to move…to make a break for it.  Too afraid of our own shadows lurking within corners that we’ve created.  Memories that we avoid do not fade, but rather they deepen in their staining.  And we within our self-made prisons peer out at them from behind our bar windows, clutching fragments of sun light instead of basking in it.

This old house needs a new, fresh coat of glossy clean paint that sparkles in the sunlit day and gleams when the stars in the night sky comes a callin’…but first this old decrepit brown weathered tinged paint must be peeled back…we must reveal our hurts, our wounds, our heartaches, we can’t just paint over the old for the old with infect and deflect the new.

So with weapon of choice in hand we, knowing it to be the right thing to do, must embrace the mess, confess to the wrongs, embrace what it is now, relish the opportunity to begin again.  Peel back the pain that harbors itself beneath the paint.  Let it breathe free and when the sun has baked its cold moisture away…this old house can take on a new creation.

Image

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑