Very soon

The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions – the little, soon forgotten charities of a kiss or a smile, a kind look or heartfelt compliment.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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(faded, frozen and spent crepe myrtle and loropetalum buds and blooms / Julie Cook / 2015

Somewhere ’round a corner, in the secret garden of my mind
I thought I caught of glimpse of things that now are hard to find.

What stands before me now is simply lifeless browns and greys
Yet soon this empty landscape will bask in sunny rays.

Lifelessness and emptiness will soon be long departed
As hopefulness and happiness are finally getting started. . .

Here’s to the secret garden within all our winter weary hearts and minds. . .

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(hyacinth and tiny garden buds / Julie Cook / 2015)

To sleep, but to dream; to wake but to yearn

“I dreamt — marvellous error! — that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures.”
― Antonio Machado

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;
William Shakespeare

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(the beads of tiny rain drops appear as pearls upon a spider’s web / Julie Cook / 2015)

Routed out of slumber’s silent realm
waking in the harsh dark reality of that what was,
for was, was but a dream. . .

Again the dream, each time is different
Yet the meaning and emotion quite the same
To be. . .
Embraced
Enveloped
Loved completely

It may not be you
but it is some form of you
Sadly having never seen you
nor achingly never having known you

But you are there
kind and nurturing. . .
Missing you,
longing to know you
to see you
to feel you
to see your face,
seeing mine

In sleep you are elusive
Seemingly present, yet not.
In waking, you have never existed
Emptiness fills the heart

Fleeting and just out of reach,
Your smile fills the void
To be loved as in the dream,
In the reality of waking,
leaves the heart spent.

Tears fall as the pearls of a broken strand
worn beautifully around your neck
But that I could gather them up
giving them back to you,
pouring them gently into your warm hands
For in the dream, you are warm. . .

Your eyes tenderly enveloping the now grown child
You see nothing negative, just joy
in what stands before you—
How different would it all have been
knowing you?

You remain hidden
In the shadows of a sleeping mist
You are longed for in wakefulness
A haunting specter longed for in
a dream

Wandering

“The man who said, “Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed,” put the eulogy quite inadequately and even falsely. The truth “Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall be gloriously surprised.” The man who expects nothing sees redder roses than common men can see, and greener grass, and a more startling sun. Blessed is he that expecteth nothing, for he shall possess the cities and the mountains; blessed is the meek, for he shall inhereit the earth. Until we realize that things might not be we cannot realize that things are.”
― G.K. Chesterton

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(the brackets of a pink poinsettia / Julie Cook / 2014)

No longer guided from afar by a brilliantly shining Star
As limited sad sights now merely rest upon holiday lights.

Once we took great care to honor the wee babe so fair,
Yet time now sorely tested revealing hearts no longer invested.

Now Shopping
Now Cooking
Now Traveling
Now Wrapping

On Traffic
On Frantic
On Hectic
On Panic

What dare will it take for Love’s blessed sweet sake,
In hopes to bring home the wandering who roam?

As time quickly runs out on a world shrouded in doubt,
God once more turns His face, offering the world His tender embrace.

Dressed for Fall

The spider’s touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

~Alexander Pope

There he goes, in his long russet surtout, sweeping down yonder gravel-walk, beneath the trees, like a yellow leaf in autumn wafted along by a fitful gust of wind.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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(a golden orb weaver spider hides within its home / Troup Co, Georgia / Julie Cook / 2014)

Wandering, Seeing, Discovering. . .
A heavily wooded path leads nowhere in particular
Hickory nuts fall, bouncing off leaf and limb as gravity works its magic

A flash of movement
the rustling of leaves
a single deer darts across the path, vanishing before being seen

Brilliant sunlight dances magically on invisible suspended threads
Stretching ornately from one limb to another
Delicate and seemingly fragile–concentric with deadly appeal

Dressed in Autumn’s finest shades
yellow, orange, magenta
she wears a dazzling display offset by the leaves she calls home

Hidden from sight, eschewing direct observation
She waits and watches
Has someone come knocking?

Let the festivities begin

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet.

Lord Byron

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(persimmon tree, Pine Mt., Georgia/ Julie Coo / 2104)

The balloons are now hung with flirtatious grand flare,
as seasonal prognosticators ooze without care.

Orange globules dangle heartily in a bright blue sky,
while eager small party guests hurriedly waddle on by.

The time has been set as we prepare for this fete
A party is brewing, there’s no time to be stewing

Tender persimmons hang high on this new Autumn Day
As festivities begin, lets shout hip hip hooray.

Welcome to October

“Amoretti”– a poem, obviously, by a love struck sandpiper

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(sandpiper, Watercolor Beach, Florida / Julie Coo / 2014)

Amoretti
One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
but came the waves and washèd it away:
agayne I wrote it with a second hand,
but came the tyde, and made my paynes his pray.
Vayne man, sayd she, that doest in vaine assay,
a mortall thing so to immortalize,
for I my selve shall lyke to this decay,
and eek my name bee wypèd out lykewize.
Not so, (quod I) let baser things devize
to dy in dust, but you shall live by fame:
my verse your vertues rare shall eternize,
and in the hevens wryte your glorious name.
Where whenas death shall all the world subdew,
our love shall live, and later life renew.

Edmund Spenser’s Amoretti (1595)

The adventures of Mr. Toad

“The world has held great Heroes,
As history-books have showed;
But never a name to go down to fame
Compared with that of Toad

The clever men at Oxford
Know all that there is to be knowed.
But they none of them knew one half as much
As intelligent Mr Toad!

The animals sat in the Ark and cried,
Their tears in torrents flowed.
Who was it said, “There’s land ahead?”
Encouraging Mr Toad!

The Army all saluted
As they marched along the road.
Was it the King? Or Kitchener?
No. It was Mr Toad!

The Queen and her Ladies-in-waiting
Sat at the window and sewed.
She cried, “Look! who’s that handsome man?”
They answered, “Mr Toad.”

― Kenneth Grahame, Wind and the Willows

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(a beautiful warm weather resident / Julie Cook / 2014)

Sweet and simple

It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all.
Laura Ingalls Wilder

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(a tiny sweet begonia blossom / Julie Cook / 2014)

Taking stock of what was,
melancholy and nostalgic,
do we count our treasures?

Looking back on a life long lived,
tired and weary,
can we hold our possessions in open arms?

Time no longer kind,
spent and gone,
is it who we know or who’ve known which matters most?

Complicated, overwhelming, excessive
No time, too busy, maybe later
What does any of it mean now?

Can we rewind, return, renew
The chances come and chances go
Time begs to begin again

Take it while you can
Hold on to it longer,
to all that mattes most

When everything was simple
When time never mattered
When less was happily more
When life was sweet

Hallelujah

“Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.”
John Paul II
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(blooming Scotch Broom / Julie Cook / 2014)

Today let the Earth Rejoice and be glad
For Salvation has arrived and hope is at hand
It has met us where we are, broken and dazed
Wending its way gently across life’s generational maze

Sun and light skip lightly along this new morning’s land
As Redemption offers to all a most kind and gracious hand
Come dance my love in the meadow sweet
and taste tender Honey’s sacrificial treat

Sweet colors collide all swirling to one
with boundaries now broken and walls all but gone
There is no more shame nor guilt nor guile
for Hope, now triumphant, offers his welcoming smile

The falsehoods all fall and now fade in the light
What once was all wrong is now made right
Fear bravely vanquished with Death now long gone,
Victory has come singing Love’s sweet gentle song

Tender eyes now speak to a heart lain bare
Hallelujah it whispers, you need not care
What’s done is done, I see it not
The war has been won as the battle was fought

Arms stretch wide holding all gently tight
As Grace sweetly comes riding thankfully in sight
Close your eyes sweet child and dance now with delight
For Salvation has come in this new morning’s light.

Happy Easter Monday