breathe {wordless wednesday}

*{sharing in bits and pieces - can you guess where i've been?}

come sail away

{wait 'til you see where i've been}

happy monday!

What We Care for Becomes Important

 {My follow-up to yesterday's post.}

 "You are not at all like my rose," he said.

"As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one."

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you - the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except for the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose."

~Saint-Exupery, The Little Prince

I planted the flowers.

Aren't they beautiful?

 They are rich in color and exude life in a season of endings. They survive because they are cared for, just like relationships. Remember to care for your marriage; water it generously with love and patience, pull the weeds before they take over, provide it with sunshine {lots and lots of sunshine!} and shelter it from the harsher elements, give it the attention it needs... and it will flourish with colorful blossoms!

And to think, you thought they were just flowers. Unwrapped, they mean so much more to me.

My Back Porch

I stepped outside and breathed in the freshness, and Night wrapped me in her comforting arms. The memory hit me hard; it has been so long since I have been out here. This used to be my sanctuary, my private space, my place where I could always breathe. Why haven’t I retreated here lately? 

It is cool, and it is dark, but I can see the outlines of their skeletons standing stark in the night. Stark and proud, like they are rubbing it in my face. How pitiful. The dried out rotten leftovers of flowers from two summers ago. It’s not that I neglected repotting my friends who make my back porch lovely; I intentionally didn’t do it. I couldn’t make myself. Maybe I didn’t want that pretty-ing up? Maybe I didn’t think I deserved it. Maybe it was just one more thing.

 

I sink down in the love seat, into the stale cushions I was once so elated to fluff and puff and re-arrange. They smell musty. That’s what happens when you leave cushions out on the back porch for over a year straight... rain and dew and snow and more rain and lake moisture seeps in without notice, like the heaviness that seeps in and suffocates the freshness out of my soul. I continue to sink down, with my legs curled in until I am comfortable. I used to come out here every night after the chaos of dinner was squelched. I’d bring a glass of wine, or a cup of coffee and something to read, or stationary to hand-write a letter. {Yes, hand-written letters!} This was my favorite place in my whole house. I love the creaky wooden screen door that leads to the uncovered part of the deck. It’s the only screen door in my house, and I cherish it. The slam never startles me; it only calls up a smile of memories past. And yet. 

The crescent moon hangs low and full like a hammock hung from summer trees. I breathe in again and let the freshness of Night fill me. It’s instant peace. And I wonder. Is it the lack of light that filters the extraneous? Or the chirping of the cicada that drowns out half-thoughts and bitter feelings? Whatever; it is peace.

 

It’s been almost a year, and I’ve come full-circle. An emotional, ever-changing, lost & found year of life and death and change and acceptance. Memories of things that never were, nor will be, still haunt me with lyrics to the right songs, and the smell of autumn. Elections and soccer balls and hope and change and the giving up and giving in. My vivid imagination that confused reality and stability still rears her ugly head, and I find myself walking the fine line. But just for a moment. His patience and love grabbed hold before it was too late, and brought me back. Still. Things had changed, and we moved away from each other instead of toward each other, each of us to survive, I suppose. 

And I stopped planting flowers.

The moon is moving across the sky, dipping lower and deepening in color. And the peacefulness of this place heals me. I must return to it. I must take the time to nurture things, as it nurtures me to do so. I need to tuck what’s left of that time of change into a box and finally, close the lid. I wonder if it’s okay to keep it, to remember, because I don’t ever want to forget. He loves me enough to make the changes I needed. He held me when I didn’t want him to, and he stayed there while I worked through it, while I let the love return. Yes, I will close the lid, and tuck the box away. 

 

And tomorrow, I will plant flowers.

 * A note about the photography: these photos were taken at 7:30am, and are virtually untouched {just a little pumpin' up the definition, and increasing the exposure on the 3rd shot}. I just want you to see how important LIGHT is {especially to color saturation}, and the morning light is awesome!

Almost - SOOC

This is Almost.

This is that moment, when his eyes are wide, his heart is pounding, and his mind is blank, except for maybe 

"I have it!"

Almost.

Oh the bitter elation-slammed-with-disappointment of Almost!

Curse Almost.

Perhaps.

Maybe Almost teaches us focus.

And one more degree of effort, added to 110%.

Maybe Almost lets us lap up the taste of success, 

without success,

to lure us on to bigger and better things.

*******

This photo is Straight Out of Camera, something I rarely do... (I love my photo editing!) Crisp up and define the edges... Saturate the colors... Crop to the most important part. But I also love the idea of raw. And imperfect.

It was in the evening before a rain storm that would end the game early, so the colors are rich on their own. And it was the week before we picked him up at a game and rushed him to the hospital. It was his first official game, and it was the last game he played. He Almost had this interception. This freshman who never played football. Who works his tail off. Who tries like no one I know. The doctor said, "6 weeks," which put him to the end of his season. He followed all the directions, eased himself back into independent workouts, and skimmed 3 weeks off of his recovery time. He is scheduled to play next week. I think Almost lured him here.