Friday, March 11, 2011

The story

I have a book
With many pages 
and many stories bound to tell.
If the mood is right
I will read these words
Without regret,
only tenderness.

In this book of many pages
There are leaves pressed between.
Dividing chapters and events.
A birth.
A death.
A change of address.

In this book of many pages
There are blank pages too.
Without text or image.
Unsaid words.
Places I’ve yet to go.
Colors I’ve not yet seen.

I'm so careful not to break these fragile flowers.
Which remain tucked away
Aging day by day.
Slowly fading back into
The yellowed pages
where they were born.

And just as ashes bring forth the springtime,
so the story goes.
Memories remain on this shelf.
Between the leaves,
in my book of many pages.

week 48.
Sometimes the spring just seem too far away. I need something to remind me it's really on it's way. At times like these, I like to imagine a different life. I dream of a life where I can finally achieve all my heart yearns for. But the truth is there is no better life waiting on the other side. We have what we have, right here in front of us. There will always be parts unfinished, relationships undefined, feelings that need time to heal. All of it is a work in progress. We have good years, we have bad ones, just like crops and plantings. At the end of winter I like to open my old books and look at the dried flowers and leaves. I like to see how they fared, maybe just to remind myself that the story goes on.