Texas I Remember

Texas Winter donned a chill
windy days and rainy nights –
funny how I’d forgotten that

I remember coastal waters
the sheer joy of cranes in flight
or Roseated spoonbills feasting

The warm thrill of tortilla soup
and the satisfaction of enchiladas
spices still lingering in my mind

A scrap of Texas memorialized
an endearing image blotting out
the internal, newsworthy, storms.

(Image my own)

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Wales

Was moonstone,
the year I travelled

Crossed the ocean
landed in a shared
caravan in Wales

Tongue tripping
over place names
thought echoing

over green, mountainous
expanses – heart mending

with each panoramic
view of Lake Bala.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)

The Leap

Freezing drizzle
and aching joints
elevate doubt

We are forging
into unknowns,
claiming change

His motivation
drive for both –
I quiet objections

Faith, I have in him
Trust, I have in process,
Hope as my beacon

Many a storm
has passed our way –
the choice is easy

Stay and rot
or risk and thrive –
hand in hand, we leap.

(Four years ago, Ric and I sold our house and all our possessions and headed south in a motor home.  Both of us had experienced life-altering medical crises, and the alternative – staying put and waiting for the next health challenge – was not appealing, so we took the leap.  After two years, we returned and settled in a small community not far from family.  Health continues to be an issue, but armed with the memories of our travels, we face each day grateful for our choices.)

Image my own.

Desert

Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side;
walk with me in shadows
let nature be our guide.

We’ll stroll amongst the cacti
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert,
help me gather tales.

The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert;
heal this heart of mine.

(Desert first appeared here in November 2018.  As Winter blows in around us, I think longingly of our time spent in warmer climates. Image from personal collection.)

Snowbird’s Odyssey

Avoidance, we
do it well – displace our
selves to warmer climes
choose a locale by the sea
anoint sunshine as our power,

and when the Ides of March arrive
our restlessness stirs once more
heat turns up and
we escape – renewed drive
leads to home’s door.

(Dark Side of the Moon offers a weekly cinquain challenge.  This week is the Insane Cinquain – check link to learn more. Image from personal collection.)

Desert

Take me to the desert
with mountains at our side,
walk with me in shadows,
let nature be our guide

We’ll stroll amongst the cacti,
pay homage to the quails;
take me to the desert
help me gather tales

The seasons are passing,
we’re running out of time;
take me to the desert
to heal this heart of mine.

***

By the time you read this, Ric and I will be on the road, headed south.  Texas and Arizona proved to be places of healing for me last year, and I hope that this journey will continue that process.

 

Monday Tourists

Rain-drenched
roads kick up
blinding mist,
Eight hours –
construction,
accidents,
snarly traffic
ignoring
neon:
Adjust speed for weather

We arrive
at five –
multi-lanes
jammed –
Quick!
Wrong lane!
Merge right!
Weary commuters –
tourists
a rush-hour pain –
graciously acquiesce.

Welcome
to Ottawa.

(Inspired by today’s road trip and written for dVerse’s quadrille: quick, and Ragtag Community’s: grace)

Departure

He is the planner,
planning routes and stops,
measuring distances, researching
particulars, focused on specifics

I am the organizer,
organizing a mass cull,
distribution of worldly possessions
to kids, goodwill, or garage sales

He is the scheduler,
scheduling maintenance,
pre-departure inspections,
double-checking mechanical

I am the communicator,
communicating itineraries
answering emails, phone calls
reassuring family left behind

We lose each other
in the preparation scramble,
absorbed as we are in personal
agendas, anxious for departure.

The future is unknown,
we have committed to the leap,
replaced obligations with openness,
are setting sail on a new adventure.

We are questers,
questing after discovery,
retreating from a weighty past
leaving judgment in our dust.

We are travellers,
traveling off the beaten track,
chasing vibrant panoramas,
a close proximity to nature’s best.

(This poem appeared last November, as my husband and I, having sold our house and possessions, headed for the great beyond in our motor home.  The experience surpassed any of our expectations.  Not sure when or where the wind will blow us this year, but Manic Mondays 3 way prompt, departing, has sparked the memories and itch to hit the road.)