A Bag of Grateful Bones

Walking with Ollie

Walking with Ollie

He stopped us at the park looking for the orange ball we played with two days ago,
the ball I picked up, carried home and left on the front porch,
the ball we stepped over to walk down the steps, 
the ball that was ideal for his small mouth.
Maybe he thought another one would magically appear 
just as the first one did.
It's hard to know the mind of a dog.

I met a neighbor and fellow teacher
who talked about her hair falling out in patches due to stress
And I talked about my gray roots.
What can you do during a pandemic?
Somehow hair just doesn't seem that important.
Even if the beauty shops are starting to open.

We walked down Burnet Road, the road dividing the two jewelry stores
that were robbed last week.
Everything looks normal now, but it doesn't feel normal yet.
Random violence leaves its mark no matter if one is directly involved or not.
It reminds you that anything can happen at any time. 
I guess that is not so bad a thing to remember.

At last we returned home to see two very sunny day lilies 
Smiling, beckoning us to draw near as they swayed in the breeze.
As we approached, Ollie was oblivious
Or more likely, he was aware of something imperceptible to me
A smell intriguing only to a dog perhaps.
I, however, quickly narrowed in the motionless change in color:  See both photos.

— Laurie Winnette

Turning Toward

I reach out to touch their hands,
my beloved grandchildren
I cannot reach their palms
or feel their touches now—

I am so near at times,
yet far away
we walk together
mindful not to 

six feet away—the rule,
you are too close.
we want you to stay well.

days, now weeks
of distancing,
no touching

sometimes my mind
says, “do as you please,
you are 80,
no one can tell you
what to do,"

then I remember
what has taken 
all these years to learn,
it’s not about me,
nothing is or ever was
now in the spaces 
between us
moon lilies sprout
from the swamp of silence
with unexpected beauty.

— Judybmyers

Our Thread

— Kim Mosley (https://blog.kimmosley.com)

Copper & Glass Web

Proximity no longer connects us.
Six feet isn't very sociable.  Now
ductile copper and glass fiber
connects: sight & sound. Not touch,
not hugs in a time of plague.

Mikes muted we extend our thoughts,
pens, souls into a space hoping
to attach to something, reel it in,
bind it to paper with ink & pen.

Fling it forth into our space bound
together with copper wire, glass fiber.
Community of the distanced
only in space, not in time together.

— Jeffrey Taylor

The Order of Time

They are everywhere, following their own threads,
often thoughtless about whether their movements
will snarl, worry, pull or fray the thread of another
or others.
Tragedies happen people get hurt or die; yet these
“righteous rafflers” seem oblivious.

Today, I saw eight people in a neighborhood pocket park,
for whom 6ft physical distance & wearing of a mask
had no relevance. Their vulnerability blinded by the
sense of invincibility, menacing the larger community
with whom they will doubtlessly interact.

Nothing can stop time’s unfolding.

— Martha Koock Ward

A Reminder:

Beloved, why do you continue beating your head through walls that don’t matter? Don’t you see the stars?
Don’t miss those stars…
Orion, Andromeda, Cassiopeia… perpetually upside down as punishment for foolish behavior?

Don’t be foolish—that point you so desire making or that ego-driven fact—
is it necessary?
Will getting a few more trivialities in
change the color of the leaves?

Will it stall the tulips from falling after their triumphant surge up through the earth?
Or did you miss the tulips…
what with worrying yourself over the thoughts and opinions of others?

The quiet wisdom of the willow tree
proves how menial that emotional charge you carry is,
how shallow of a fall that let down really was.

Does water still somersault, laughing its way down stream?
Does the breeze still blow, twirling with it each leaf as it dances through the trees?
Do the mountains still breathe in stillness
and exhale a grounded calm as they elegantly ebb
from green… to blue… to purple, as day turns to dusk?

So you do, too.

— Jordan

gathering sun

gathering sun
not by looking at where it comes from
but where it lands

collecting rain
not by escaping from your umbrella
but by memorizing the sound it makes

hoarding candy
not by running around on Halloween
but by never forgetting the first time
chocolate melted in your mouth,
that unexpected delight

assembling a lifetime of memories
not by rushing through adventures
but by remembering the shape of the sun rays
the sound of rain drops
the taste of surprise

— Jesco Puluj