A Lone Leaf

The boss in on vacation,

enveloped by the warm humidity of Vietnam.

 

We receive the call from the buyer's assistant.

The deal has been closed.

Texts back and forth to confirm. 

Not much will change, or at least at the outset.

I look out through the window of his empty office, 

in darkness, the only light coming from the outside. 

I stand and look at the city covered in gray and white, 

rain patterning down,

trees scattered along bare sidewalks,

 

As I look, I see there a bare tree with one lone leaf not its own, 

caught in its branches, 

holding it there until it blows away. 

She Smelled Like the Rain

Two nights ago on September 1, 2013 at 1:36 a.m., it rained for less than 60 seconds. 

I had just gotten out of bed to brush my teeth. When I laid back down, I heard pitter-pat pitter-pat. I kept listening in disbelief. Raining? It was so hot today. I listened for a few seconds more, then I rushed out to the living room to tell M. He was about to come wake me up to tell me the same, but he said he wasn't sure he should wake me. 

We looked outside together but couldn't see the rain. We couldn't even hear it. I told him it was a good thing we didn't paint the table and benches today–the old weathered table and benches we found at an estate sale two Sunday's ago. That table in its weathered state reminded me of my grandfather and of the outside tables and chairs that he used to make with his own two hands–the chairs I used to sit in. I wondered if they were still there or if my uncle had thrown them out.

Then–the rain was gone like it never happened. I went back to sleep with a smile on my face.  A few moments, right after I laid back down, I could smell the faint smell of wet earth. What a wonderful smell. My smile grew. 

Two nights ago, I dreamt of my mother. I rarely dream about her, which I told my uncle recently when he told me that he had dreamed of her. He said, "My sister looked really happy," as he choked back a small rise of emotion.

Her memory is entwined with my existence. 

For a great stretch of my life, I tried to live in a way that would give her spirit a second chance at life, to live in a way that would bring her the peace that she didn't seem to have for the short period of time I knew her. I still have that on my mind, but it has become more embedded within my soul, and in some ways I feel as though both of our spirits have come together in harmony, and now I don't focus on her peace any longer because I think we reached it together–her peace. 

When I look into the mirror, as the years have gone by, more and more, the reflection looking back has glimmers of her; when I see certain pictures of myself, I see her smile; when I cry after reading a short story, I think of her; when I witness certain acts of kindness, I remember the things my mother did for others; when I think of how sometimes it's easier to open up and reach out to strangers more so than family, I think of my mother; when my temper gets the best of me, I am my mother. The positive and the negative are within me. I accept that. I work on and nurture what I can.

It's comforting to know she's with me and within me–that I recognize her.

Two night's ago, I dreamt of my mother. I was in a hospital looking for her. In the dream I think she may have been in an accident. I don't remember. I went to one room–room 103. There was a sign in the hall leading to the rooms that said for staff only. I tried to go down the hall, but I was cutoff and somehow the nurse knew where I was going, who I was looking for. My mother had been moved into another room. She pointed to the next hall of rooms and told me I would find her in there. I was hoping she was alone. 

As I walked into the room, I saw her resting. She had a glow around her and her salt and pepper hair was mostly dark brown and glistened. She immediately sensed me, opened her eyes and gave me the warmest most peaceful smile.  I went to her, beaming with a smile of my own, I bent my head down to her and rested it in the crook of her neck in her nest of hair and breathed her in as though I hadn't seen her in forever. 

She smelled like the rain.

Little Bits ~ Rain and Pansy

Rain was forecast for Easter Sunday. It didn’t rain at all. Instead the air was warm, the sky—a soft blue with wisps of white clouds. Quiche Lorraine was a success, despite a small portion of the bottom edge of the crust burning. I could see it when I looked under the glass pie plate. I was happy to hear when one person said they do not usually like quiche, but this one they liked. I once had a quiche that was really burned, the broccoli blackened. It was mostly inedible and unappetizing, but I ate around it too busy to take it back to where I will not go for a very long time.

**

I always set my eyes on you when I walk on by.

I stopped for you purple pansy.

You are a color burst of purples and yellow—

A faraway galaxy of my imagination.

**

An internally quiet morning,

raindrops—tink, tink—on the

outside to the inside—tink, tink.

The quiet.

Springtime Rains

Springtime rains
glazed roads wet with small
birds tweeting their flutes into
the breeze catching the notes,
gray sky listens, folded into shades
of varying contrasts and dimensions.

Sweet, wet springtime, we hear you pitter pat,
appreciate the wetness and patiently await warm sunshine
and spring blossoms carried in little beaks, fluttered
on gentle wings.

Mountaintop

This morning the mountaintop
was cloaked in a great white beard; its face
the colors of autumn leaves of russet and dusty rose.
In these spring-like days of winter, crisp air
sends chills through my bones. The rain has come, at last.

Just Another Rainy Day in Summer

First day of Summer was one week ago from yesterday. Yesterday it rained. A rainy day snuggled between all these warm days we’ve had. I didn’t believe the weather reports. I woke up and I believed because my body told me so. I have several headache triggers, one of which is pressure in the air and especially right before it rains. And that’s how I woke up. I took my pills, had my coffee, tried to shake it off. The pressure often begins in my mouth. I can feel this deep pressure between my teeth and gums in this one little corner of my mouth and it works its way down and all around. Sometimes I feel like a boat rocking back and forth; my system gets thrown out of whack. Sometimes medium pressure sometimes high. So the weather and I have always had this intimate relationship. Hot hot days do it too. I feel like a barometer sometimes and although it can be a nuisance, it also makes me appreciate the sensitivity of the body, nature—and the little moments in between.

As I walked out to the parking lot to drive to work I heard the sound of the squirrel—that mischievous chortle he does.  I have not heard his sound in a long while. I looked up in the tree where I heard him, but I could not see him—only my ears could see. I smiled and then my eye met two purple flowers growing from the yard beyond; they seized me and my smiles grew wider.  Thank you squirrel and thank you other cars for not covering the space and for my eyes to meet these two gifts today.

When I looked at the photo this morning, a final gift—a leaf— in the form of a miniature heart in the bottom right corner. It warmed my heart. And it’s these moments that make me forget the pressure, begin turning it out into smooth peace.

Rain

This Morning a beautiful shroud of rain mists through
the valley.

All movement to the West,
as the trees raise
their arms to the silent
ones to the East.

The wind, a consistent hush,
with high notes that carry
the scent of moist wooded trees. The bamboo
leans back gracefully and
then forward again.

This morning the trees dance,
the whole valley moves.