Sleep While I Drive

Simply love Organic: It's Sunday morning and the sun is peeking from be...

Simply love Organic: It's Sunday morning and the sun is peeking from be...: It's Sunday morning and the sun is peeking from behind it's sweater. I keep hoping the sweaters will come off her smile and we can b...

It's Sunday morning and the sun is peeking from behind it's sweater. I keep hoping the sweaters will come off her smile and we can bask in her light for a little while. In the meantime I am layered. A t-shirt with the words "your kidding, right?" a jacket with some Aerie lettering and polka dots in the hood. A baseball cap covering some deep graying at the temples. I am in a place in my journey where I can't put another chemical on my head. I went gray in my 20's. It's been a lifetime of purchasing colors. A lifetime of sitting miserably in a shower trying not to breathe until the toxic stuff can be washed away. Then an itchy scalp follows for a day until 6 weeks have past and it needs to be done again. I think it's time to accept myself. I think it's time to realize what 60 looks like after a lifetime of suffering. I'm done trying to impress. Except maybe my beloved and he likes the grey. (He is a little crazy that way) So I am walking the trail beside the creek and I am loving the sounds and the smells of a forest after the rain. It's my ritual, this creek and I. I meet Sammy, a beautiful scarred rescue and his "Mama" Lizbeth some days, and we catch up and share snippets before we carry on in our exercise time.  Today, I am alone except for a girl. She looks to be about 15 and she is swinging wildly on the swing set. Pumping her legs hard, her hair is flying back and forth and her face is tipped to the skies and she is smiling. It's a joyous sight to see and suddenly I want to join her. To take my pain wracked spirit and squeeze my 60 year old behind into a child's seat. "Hi," I smile at the girl "Isn't it magical to swing like that?" She smiles at me with the joy of an opening flower. "It is!" she cries loudly and I don't want to frighten her off her joy by asking if I can join her, not with all of the messages now of DON"T entertain a stranger. So I walk off...daydreaming of the skies coming closer. The crows along the trail are mocking me, a large old dog comes and takes a giant crap in front of me. I am all of that in my thoughts. "What is so wrong with speaking to a child?" I think.  So I turn back towards the playground, my heart beating a little harder in anticipation of meeting again. The swings are quiet, the girl has left. I walk slowly towards the swings and squeeze my hips between the sides of a blue seat. I begin to push off the sand and my feet start to rise. The spirit of my child comes shyly from within and the soles of my feet pump up into the sky. I feel the earth, I hear the sounds of my childhood and I pump harder. My stomach is flipping and I remember that too. The sun is removing her sweater and my face is tipped towards the glory. I am for a moment in time 8 again.  I swing and I pump and my heart is light and missing a beat and I am in some pretty beautiful joy.  All 60 years of pain is flying in the seat of a blue swing, size child.
The sun puts on her sweater again and I feel acutely the pain in my hips and I stop abruptly.
The old dog meets me with a large wag of his tail and he and I slowly make our way back to our homes.  I am suddenly lighter, younger in my heart. Full of something I had forgotten.

Sometimes I think whats the point?

It's dark and chilly and summer has not made known her heat. I am in a sweatshirt after an evening stroll with a tired husband and a band of deer as witness. It's my way to question this new life. I don't go easily to places that seal me in dirt and whip me with hair across my blood shot eyes.
So I write out my journey and I post it on social pages and I get absolutely no comments of any kind and I think "what's the point?" You hear of Bloggers who tear up the worldwide web with their brilliance or whatever magic they spin to make a million readers come and listen to what they have to say. I am lucky if I get one comment or one person following me. Yet I win awards and get published and sit alone in my new "normal" land of discontent and long to sit across a table breaking bread with a fellow writer and share our sonnets or our stories among glasses of red wine and checkered table cloths that lay across my grandmothers old table.

Simply love Organic: The created earth is crying out. It's in some deep...

Simply love Organic: The created earth is crying out. It's in some deep...: The created earth is crying out. It's in some deep distress and we don't hear. There are those of us who cry out on the behalf of ...

"Lucy your in a lot of trouble"

The earth is in some deep distress. Crying out, the warnings are everywhere. We turn our backs, spray our children, kill our animals, destroy our forests, scalp the lands. We over consume and under restore. There is no end in sight and if we don't stop we will awaken one day to a silent spring. We post signs to NOT help our fellow man.

If we forget we belong to one another we have lost all love. If we forget we are all connected we will lose all nourishment and die.

LS

I am a sojourner of the lost

I am a weeping woman for a dying child

I am an angry cry for the injustices

and there are voices rising in the wilderness calling out that the time has come.

The masses are not listening.

The masses are not caring

The masses are not sharing

The created earth is crying out. It's in some deep distress and we don't hear. There are those of us who cry out on the behalf of the dying and we face the indifference of the masses.

I am woman on her knees
I am a woman crying out
I am a woman who's home is the sky
who's home is the land
who's home is the sea.
I am a woman who has bent low
as the earth is bent low
I am that woman
who silently screams in her pain
from the chemical load
(a lying believable thing)
as birds fall from the sky
and oil spills into a dolphins home
and they die.
We will fight the masses
with everything we have
to point the way
and the earth cries out
and the land is scraped barren
and the children are sprayed
and the world spins on it's axis
and the masses hang up there shingles
and turn a deaf ear.

If we forget we belong to one another there can be no peace.
If we forget we belong to another there will never be love.
I cry out to a God above
All knowing and all loving
yet so unfair in his touch.
Some are blessed and some are cursed.
Some are healthy and some are crushed.
I am a woman on bended knee
crying out for relief.
The earth cries out and I hear it's cry.
The earth cries out and I hear it's plea. I am a woman
Just a small and bent woman
Joining my cries with those of the skies.
With a child dying
I am a child
gone wild
in grief and in dreams
Please hear our cries
Please lift our voices
before it's too late.