that's mrs. mediocrity to you

::

a neglected garden

offers

strange beauty.

::

In spite of the weather, which has been nothing but cold and grey and rainy for weeks, Spring is forcing its way to the surface. A reminder that life goes on, even in the worst of circumstances.

Growth happens even when you can’t see it, or feel that it’s impossible. Fragility is often an illusion. There is strength to be found in this tiny flower that managed to poke its head through the wet, heavy ground. One small victory for one minuscule part of the food chain that is life.

There’s something to be said for tenacity, that never-give-up kind of stubbornness that keeps us moving through each day, clinging to the bits of sunshine and beauty that by chance may fall upon our shoulders.

It’s the ability to weather the storm that gets us there,

standing with our feet mired in a field full of mud,

and the sun on our face, blossoming.

Seeds have been started, weeds have been pulled,
dead leaves have been gathered and raked.
Tiny patches of green are popping up all over,
daffodils, tulips, bleeding hearts, crocus.

Spring has finally put on her green party dress,
with no apologies for coming so late to the party.

I will forgive her, though,
and take care of all the preparations,
so that all she has to do is relax
and enjoy herself.

I can’t help it,
I’m just so happy
to see her.

breathing flowers in, after dawn.

simple words that get stuck in my throat, for days.

moments in mid-afternoon that bring tears to my eyes.

sunsets waiting on the horizon, always with a promise.

a mirror that refuses to show what lies beneath the surface.

seasons that rattle through my chest, calling me to remember.

blisters that heal and become callouses, rough evidence of pain.

a heart that breaks in its own small way each time you turn a page.

the constant digging for my soul that wears my fingers to the quick.

a silver necklace that says hope, left broken on the dresser.

making molds of the moon to keep in a glass jar.

standing in the dark, listening for sunrise.

a song that whispers even as i sleep.

threading words on needles and pricking my finger.

that one drop of blood, there, on the corner

of the page.

::

This post is part of One Shot Wednesday

yesterday, i found this along the trail i run on.

it made me think of fairy houses, elves, & woodland sprites.

i want to live there.

::

this post is part of one word wednesday over at jillsy girl

There is something about this day that keeps calling me outside.

I have been in and out all morning, inside working, then, feeling this magnetic pull, back out.

A cup of tea, some photos, playing with the crazy kittens that spend their days outside, hunting. Back in for more work. Accomplishing what must be accomplished. And when that is done, the must-do part of my day, I shall start on the should-do portion. Should pull these weeds, should paint that door, should make more jewelry, should do paperwork, or laundry, or vacuum, or dust. I don’t know where to start, which direction to point my feet in.

Except, there must be something to this, this not knowing where I’m going, this walking along a path with no a compass, because I am not afraid. Not lost.

Just here, navigating my way by feel and instinct and some inner sense of who I am, or want to be.

Just here, witnessing each day as it unfolds before me, not judging or wishing for a better one. Not dreaming or pretending or lamenting a life I do not have. But living this one. Sitting in my garden in the room I have built from flowers and earth and sky.

A giant room in my tiny world. I can see everything from here.

Just here.

It took me such a long time to arrive. I stumbled a lot and ran in circles and backtracked and trudged through rain and desert, wind and forest, sun and swamp. You can’t follow in my footsteps, even I can’t retrace them, couldn’t tell you where I started, or when I turned left rather than right, or even who I was on the day this journey began. I walked at night by the light of the moon, sometimes, and often, I walked all day. I trusted my heart to guide my feet. I carried my fear in a pack on my back, always behind me.

I am just here.

With this feeling that my entire life led me to this exact place and this feeling that it really was all for a reason and this feeling that I am about to be somewhere else.

Just like every other day, I suppose.

Just here.

{august break no. 3}

you win.

An afternoon that swallows time. Even when I beg, there is
no more. Deadlines and desideritas, my life.

I take myself too seriously. Ponder things that can’t be solved. Worship silence and sanctuary when there is none. Too many moments pass while I stare out my window.

A garden that grows without me. A tale that was not true.
A mystery that has no answer. My life.

A series of situations. A corner that keeps my secrets. A broom
that sweeps almost nothing clean. My life.

Some days overwhelm me. Some days wait to be taken.
Some days sing songs that only I can hear. Some days I sit on
the floor and weep. This is not my imagination.

A forest that leaves light unspoken. A tree that whispers platitudes. A fern that grows in shadow. My life.

A sunbeam filled with dancers. A teardrop left unclaimed.
A glimpse of mediocrity. My life.

Dreams that claim my sleep the way lovers claim their hearts.
Things I cannot have lined up before me. Things I do not want
stand next in line.

A comfort that eludes me. A melody of words that have no tune.
A signature I do not recognize. My life.

A smile on my lips, of strawberries and wine.

A summer day that does not end.

I stand here, waiting.

A weed is only a weed because somebody else says so.

A weed is a flower with a bad reputation.

A weed has a remarkable ability to adapt.

A weed has very strong roots.

A weed is not afraid to be scattered by the wind.

A weed has great tolerance for adverse conditions.

A weed will flower at all cost.

A weed is doing its best to survive.

I’m pretty sure I could be a weed.

today

today is your moment

you should take it

you should embrace it

you should shine