Forsythia in Bloom

The yellow birds sing

throats full of spring. In windows,

forsythia sun.

I Miss the Sun

I Miss the Sun

On rain-dark days

I miss the slant of sunlight,

melting its butter

on the hardwood floor,

in the places the cat likes to sleep.

After days and days

of cold and damp,

I forget the light’s still here;

well, up there, above the clouds

just twiddling its thumbs.

And forget,

after days and days

of sun and heat,

I’ll be moaning for the rain.

Words and photo copyright 2011-2013 Carol Steel.

Desire

Desire

On the door frame,
white paint hangs like a pout
then peels
in slow slivers.

The afternoon sun nibbles
a little each day.
Nothing is left
except naked wood
and a few curls of paint quivering
beneath the sun's breath.

The door frame cannot resist
the sun's fingers,
cannot say no
to its searching touch
and scorching kisses.

I know this.
I know the paint will swell
and give way,
will split and open.

The sun's caress
is so insistent
and delicious.

As I paint,
I feel the sun
behind me
pulsing, rounding with desire.

I know my bristles
will not stop
its hunger.

Vulnerability

I sit in a wooden chair beneath our crab apple tree.  The sky is blue, blue as my own eyes.   Breezes carry the scent of new mown grass and crab apple blossoms.  The last of the magnolia blooms unfold like pink tea cups on pale saucers.   The day’s only sounds are the far-off drone of lawnmowers, the squeals of children playing in the neighbours’ yards, and the plump buzz of gold and black bees as they heave over clumps of violets.   On the next street, I hear car doors open and close, open and close at a garage sale with “items too numerous to mention”…items now noticed and mentioned and sold.

All around me, life repeats its endless cycles.  And inside of me too, life cycles.  Life happens and changes…everywhere it is the same.   But, I can’t concentrate.   My mind wanders.   I fret.  I worry.  My brain buzzes like the bees.   I can’t stop it.

I am part of this cycle of life.  I began and I will end.  In between, I live and I am.

At 62, I am closer to my end than to my beginning.  I don’t give much thought to the end, to my mortality, not usually.  Perhaps, I believe it is a long way off and so avoid thinking about it yet.

Of late, I am mindful of my age.  I am aware of degenerating discs, of back pain, of decreased energy, of chest pain and aging.  Yes, aging.  

Why? 

Well, on Thursday, I spent the day, eleven hours of it in the Emergency Department hooked to monitors, and received X-rays, three sets of blood tests and ECG’s.   Then, after being so scared, breathes of relief; there was no heart damage. 

The doctor and I both believe the chest pains are a reaction to the anti-inflammatory pills that I am taking for my back.  The chest pains and nausea and weariness and pressure are likely not heart problems.   But just in case, I am booked for a Stress Test on Tuesday morning, first thing.   Just in case a partially clogged artery is sneaking up on me.  Likely, all is well.  But I am a worrier.  So doubts nibble at the edges of my mind.

I will heave sighs of relief on Tuesday after the test, exhale all my worry.  Then, the doctor and I will have to figure out the other possible causes for this chest pain and pressure and nausea.  Perhaps, it is something as simple as indigestion.   But, for now, “What if’s” plow through my head, creasing my mind with fretfulness, make it hard to be calm or to think.

I struggle to see the positives and the bright spots.  I stare at the dappled shade on my page as I write.  I see the shadows of the crab apple tree dance with the sunlight, the dark and the light together on my page.  Dark and light, these opposites are part of the natural world, part of the cycle of life, part of me.

Shadows and sunlight, pain and joy, worry and relief, vulnerability and reprieve are part of me and part of the cycle of my life.  Life happens and changes, carries me along with it…vulnerable and hopeful, frightened and joyful.

I sit in my wooden chair beneath the crab apple tree and I focus on life.  I focus on birdsong and bees, the sunshine and the peace of this afternoon.  I am glad to be alive, to be.  I am glad to be alive now, alive here, on this sun-blessed afternoon, grateful for this gift that is my life. 

And I hope my life, the life still ahead of me, contains joys and sunny days too numerous to mention.

Photos are mine.

Return of the Sun

The sun returned today at suppertime.  I was amazed at how quickly the sunshine lifted my mood, after endless sodden and depressing days.  The slanting gold rays created an enchantment. 

Windows opened.  Lawn chairs came out.  The air filled with bright sound, birds trilling and singing, bursting joy, lawn mowers buzzing and whining in a steady wave and trough of cutting through thick and thin patches of grass.

Suddenly neighbours were out walking their yipping dogs, calling, “Hello, great to see the sun!” from grinning faces, their conversations loud with laughter.

The warmth carried a scent of new-mown grass and of fragrant barbecues, grilling delicate chops and succulent chicken, juicy hamburgers and savoury onions.  

Someone could hear his motorcycle calling, “Come out for a ride, and forget the chores!”   He left, loudly, exultantly roaring out the driveway and down to the street, joining others who had already responded to the call of the road.

I walked around the yard surveying all that had grown during these long wet days, and was greeted by enthusiastic swathes of dandelions.  I thought, “If, I didn’t know they were weeds, wouldn’t I be glad to see these cheerful yellow faces?”  

I said, “Yes”… and so I was.