that's mrs. mediocrity to you

.

standing on the line
between years
looking back at one
toward another

this path has no end
circling the earth
in one bold stroke
drawn freehand

today i walk it
like a tightrope
arms outstretched
knees wobbly

tomorrow i bring out
my pen
begin again
word by word

.

.

wishing you and yours a most lovely of holidays

.

xoxo

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

I was so honored to be asked by the lovely Kat MacNally
to contribute a prompt to this year’s reverb13!

Day 20: The mirror never lies, but everything in it is backwards.

Look at what you see in the mirror. How does it change if you view yourself
with eyes that can only look forward?

::

a string of tomorrows
beaded with promise

wisdom and experience,
drawn with patience and empathy

old scars that have healed,
new ones to form

sunrise, sunset

a heart refusing to grow bitter
a mind refusing to be defined

a soul, still learning
a hand etched with time

silence
beneath forever’s
painted sky

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 19: How will you practice self-compassion?

::

.

i offer this hand.

.

to the world, to you,

.

to myself.

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 18: In the midst of living, did you find moments to breathe?
Were there moments that held you in the embrace of peace and quiet and
pure contentment? Did these moments catch you by surprise or
did you create the space for peace to find you?

How will you make space for greater peace in 2014?

::

I’ve learned to find peace in many places. In books and in words, through running and simple, repetitive chores.

But my favorite place for peace is in my garden, which is just a bit ironic because the truth is, it’s always in a state of chaos, as any garden that doesn’t have a full-time caretaker will be.

But no matter… I still find peace there. Most mornings in early summer, I head out there for my first cup of tea, sit in a favorite spot to sip and listen to the birds.

I fight the urge to get up and weed, or deadhead, or control, and try to just enjoy this place that used to be lawn and driveway and mud and is now my very own postage stamp of paradise.

Even the work of gardening brings me peace, a day spent in the sun with nothing to do but plant and weed and tidy restores my very soul. (Mulching, not so much.)

The lessons I have learned in my garden spill over into my life, daily. Patience, of course, being the most obvious.

The cycle of life. The force of nature. Rest and renewal. Death.

True love.

It’s all there, in amongst the chaos.

Now that it’s winter, I will find my peace in front of the fire, dreaming of spring and green and my garden.

Waiting to inhale.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 17: What word did you select to be your traveling companion in 2013?

What word will you choose to guide you through 2014?

::

.

Words.

I cannot choose just one.

And really, I prefer to let a word choose me.

So I shall wait, and listen.

Sometime in January, or February,

I will hear an echo.

.

This year was ordinary magic. And fifty.

But then, in truth, it was neither of those things.

In truth, it was chaos and catching up,

illness and patience,

writing and family.

It was, again and again, a beautiful mess.

A gift to be cherished, this life.

A gift.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 16: Habits and addictions, some are silly, some serious;
when we have issues without answers, they can hold us so tight
that we stop moving forward with the life we intended.

Were you able to loosen those fetters this year, and if you were successful,
how did you manage it? Did you accept outside help, or work alone?

If you still feel that grasp of addiction or hurtful habits,
what will you do differently in the year to come?

::

.

i embrace the questions.

.

whether this is habit or addiction, good or bad,

matters less than the lack of answers.

.

for me, this is the riddle of life

and each day is an unfinished puzzle.

.

i am perfectly mediocre in my lack of perfection,

and my flaws form the map of my existence:

one without legend or destination.

.

i embrace the questions.

.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 15: Give us a sensory tour of 2013. How would you describe the year
that’s passing in terms of Sight? Sound? Smell? Taste? Touch?

::

.
if your smile
lights up a room,
then you are my sun
.
the timbre
of your voice
rolls over my skin
in a melody
of remembrance
.
the scent of snow
on a cold dark morning
wraps me in a warmth
that has no science
.
i dream of
raspberry lips and
chocolate sighs
sealed with salty
kisses
.
one fingertip
tracing miles
of a journey
held fast
with borrowed
twine
.

::

This post is part of Reverb 13:

Day 14: What was the best decision you made in 2013?

::

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to choose my focus.

.

to accept.

.

i no longer feel the need to ask permission.

.

Which, by the way, was the title of a poetry collection I submitted to
The Verse on Paper Project, which can be viewed here).
My plan had been to release an expanded print/e-reader version this year,
but then I got sick, and so, hopefully it will happen in 2014.

::

Time.

I get stuck in it, again and again. It grabs at my ankles, slowing my pace, just as I try to race through life.

The mud of time dries on my skin, cracks and crackles, weighs me down.

All the things I want to do versus all the things I have to do versus all the time I don’t have.

There is never a right answer.

But the funny thing about time, you learn to love it, even as you fight it, even as it taunts you, even as it refuses to budge.

And so, I embrace each moment. The good, the bad and the ugly, as well as the profound, the lovely, the beautiful. Each morning I arise and hobble (not jump) out of bed, and for that brief, single moment, I am clean.

And then it’s time to go out and get my hands dirty, again and again and again. To wallow in my beautiful mess. To allow each day to be what it is.

Life.

I watch my outdoor cat: he plays hard, runs through fields muddy or not, hunts and kills, hides and seeks, rolls on the ground to scratch his back.

But always, at night, before he goes to bed, he spends a good half hour washing himself clean.

And then he sleeps, hard and sound.

In the morning, he is the first one up, ready to race out the back door and start all over.

Clean, dirty, clean again.

Life.