Tag: words

emotions, holidays, memories

reflecting

etikser
An old photo, captured in the rain through wet glass.

I am,” I said
To no one there
And no one heard at all
Not even the chair
[Neil Diamond, 1971]

Reminiscing tonight.

These years, Thanksgiving is a big production. I’m thinking back, though, to when I was 25, many years ago, to the year I did Thanksgiving all by myself. I can’t imagine doing this now, but I cooked a frozen turkey TV dinner for myself. Swanson’s or whatever. I was okay with it, but I remember talking to my mom on the phone, as was our ritual for years mid-day on Thanksgiving, and how bad she felt about my being alone.

I was embarrassed to tell her I didn’t mind, that I was planning to enjoy my four-day weekend. I had off from work Thursday and Friday, and of course the rest of the weekend, which was a real treat. It was my first grown-up job, and I hated it. And for four days, there would be no job. No stress. No pressure. No emotional drama about who was there, and how we were getting along. Relationships had ended, as they do sometimes, and all I had to worry about was me. Just to put my frozen dinner in the oven, and to take the aluminum tray out when the timer buzzed. I was okay with being alone. It was just me that November, and I don’t know why, but I was totally cool with being alone. It was me and my apartment. My couch and my TV, and my stereo and albums. And whatever has happened in my life, I have good feelings about that one-bedroom apartment.

I don’t have memories about the Christmas that followed. I probably flew home. But I remember that I got a little three or four-foot artificial tree for myself, for my living room window, and I went to Macy’s, which was Hecht’s back then, and bought some crystal icicle ornaments for the tree. I also bought a gold-colored angel topper that I still have today. The icicle ornaments all fell either that Christmas or the next, and broke, all of them, sadly too fragile for realistic use. My gold angel lost her wings. How or when, I don’t recall. But my angel has survived, minus her wings, and I would indeed feel a sense of great loss if something happened to her. One Christmas I couldn’t find her, and I missed her terribly. I’m sure she represents to me something I can’t explain about myself.

I am … I cried.
I am … said I.

It feels good  to recall these formative times,
That are part of life,
When we’re alone with ourselves,
And we hold together.
We survive.

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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

november, seasons

moving along

etikser

It’s cold so you need a jacket tonight, and the wind is blustery, leaves rustling, still clinging to branches above me in the trees. The moon’s high, shining bright behind tall oak trees in an otherwise open sky. And we’ve made it, yes, we’ve made it, to an old familiar rite of passage called November.

Turning the page, and making it past transitions. Truth be told, I’m awful at transitions, more okay once I get there. September, October, I didn’t get there yet. I held tight to summer habits, to the bliss and freedoms that probably didn’t even exist in the summer months. When I get to November, I feel like I can switch gears and roll through the next few months, even when it’s not really true. I’m not dismayed by winter. I would definitely miss it if there wasn’t a  good hard winter. Christmas and the holidays are one of my favorite times, and I’m cool with January. It’s almost sure to bring some frozen times and a good snow or two. I wish no one had to work when it snows, but I’m selfishly glad when I am snowed in. I try  to not schedule important appointments in January, and I like a good snowed in feeling. Under the covers with some good winter movies, and nothing else that’s too pressing. Come February, I’m hoping I can coast the rest of the way to spring.

I took this picture on the last day of October, but it looks the same today. So…moving along…yay, November.

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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

seaside

summertime . . . 7

etikser

The peace that rises from the ocean.

When I get to the beach, it calms and soothes and calls out to a part of my soul. A part that lives and waits for its powerful reassurance. Powerful and gentle, and real as the morning’s breeze.

White caps, out a ways, wavy lines peak and take their turn, spilling onto the sand, waves crest, come ashore and bubble on morning’s pristine sand, ocean waves break and travel onto shore, repetitive assurance, gentle assurance, waves come, waves fall back, rest assured, my soul, the ebb and the flow lives as it should, we can relax and be as we live out our destiny.

That peace.

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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

emotions, nighttime

about fear

etikser

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt

Where to walk.
Which way to steer.
Dread and fear,
Scared.
Terror???

Some of my best moments
Were past sunset,
Meandering about my favorite woodlands,
Relaxed and comfortable,
In my element.
But I’m watching Stranger Things these days,
And I wonder,
Why these folks persist in wandering, after dark,
Among those tall trees,
In the woodlands.
And I think, “Get out of there!”

Much as I love my trees,
And I’ve wandered, past sunset, later than I should,
Among my favorite trees,
Off the path, and down to the creek,
I’d never crawl through a hole in a tree,
through the Upside Down muck and the distinctly creepy.

Where to walk.
Which way to steer.
Dread and fear,
And scary terror.

Alarmed, upset,
Sometimes, I fear,
Scared to death.

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© etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.



emotions

night and day

etikser

I don’t know the constellations like so many do. I know the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper, and I used to know the North Star. Now it’s just me and that bright star I see so many nights in the west…Sirius? a planet? I don’t know…and it’s not just for me, it’s for everybody, I suppose…that bright star (or planet). It’s been guiding folks for centuries. Surely, you know that star.

I remember lying in bed at the beach after Christmas. It was night, and so it was dark, the room was dark but for the glare of the tv, and outside it was dark. Beach dark. The way it gets dark at the beach. There was enough light from the pier to see white caps as they moved on shore, what a treat, and the sky (eastern) seemed clear but with just one distinct light, probably a planet, I assumed, just to the left of the patio door frame. I didn’t think it was the North Star, but my eyes were drawn to that one bright light on the vast dark sky, and I held onto it as if it were my North Star. How many times I looked out before I fell asleep. And every time I woke during the night, I looked out at the waves and then up to the star. I looked to see if it had moved. Was it closer to the door frame? Did it get to the right of the door frame? It was the dearest, most precious thing to me at the moment. I didn’t understand, but I knew, without figuring it out, how precious it was to me. It was as if that star was there for me.

I had things that were worrying me that night, and the light, whether it was a star or planet, was wonderful and stayed with me as I navigated an anxious state of mind. Whatever troubles were haunting me through the night and the previous and the following day, whatever troubles were part of my life, I had that star. I wish I could see it every night from my bed. I wish I could open my eyes in the middle of the night, like I did that night, and take in the wonder of that little bright light and it would give me peace enough to return to sleep.

I need to get to bed. It’s late and way too cold to go outside and look for stars. I can pull the curtains aside and see the skies outside the window are cloudy gray, too gray behind the treetops to see any stars. Even my bright star in the west. When I wake in the morning, it will be past the time for stars. The clouds scatter and the morning sun shines bright these days on criss-cross footprints and left-over snow, and sweet little birds hop about and peck at wintry white icy crystals.  

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Like flickering starlight, beautiful words from songwriters call and inspire:

“In the darkness of my night,
In the brightness of my day.” [Bob Dylan, Girl from the North country]
Out of Dylan’s prolific wording and wonderful imagery, these simple words have called to me for years, and it was inevitable one day I’d write about the darkness of night and the brightness of day.

Kris Kristofferson repeating Bob Dylan’s description of Johnny Cash: “Johnny was and is the North Star, you could guide your ship by him.”

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© etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

 

Kris Kristofferson, words

the freedom of an eagle when she flies

etikser


I have seen the morning
Burning golden on the mountain in the skies
Aching with the feeling
Of the freedom of an eagle when she flies
— Kris Kristofferson
__________________________

I haven’t been writing much lately. It’s like I forgot how to type words. I forgot the freedom. The freedom of just typing words. We don’t ever want to lose the freedom of just typing words, do we?

“I have seen the morning burning golden…” These have been some of my favorite words for years and years. Some of my favorite words of all time. Why? Because of the way they sound, for certain…morning burning golden, aching with the freedom. Don’t they sound the way words were created to sound? And the picture? The picture they put in my mind? A picture I look up to see in the morning, on every good morning. I wonder what those big birds think when they circle up there. Do they think, oh whoah, that’s a long way down? Or do they look down from above the tallest branches of my favorite oak trees, and do they see it as their domain? Their purview? Their reach? Do they see it like I see the plants and trees that surround me? The plants and trees I look out and see affectionately as my own.

All our souls matter. Souls like Kris Kristofferson’s for sure matter. He gave us the gift of beautiful words and music that reaches down to the very gut of our existence. There’s God, who’s above all. And there’s the stuff of birds and trees and good picking guitar strums and words and souls. They all matter. Beautiful words matter. Beautiful words have a special place in our universe.

Thanks to Kris Kristofferson for his beautiful words.

____________________________________________________
Lovin’ Her Was Easier (1971) by Kris Kristofferson

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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.

writing

on a warm summer’s evening . . . 5

etikser

None of the words in my head tonight are words I should write. They’re words I’d delete in the morning. A glass of wine, and they’re the best words I have for the night. My best unspoken words.

[Okay…last night it wasn’t unspoken.]

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On a warm summer’s evening … simple words … my favorite kind of words … packed with age-old nuance and memories.
Credit:  The Gambler, performed by Kenny Rogers (1978), written by Don Schlitz.

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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
Please visit my other blog, Clover & Ivy, https://cloverandivy.wordpress.com.
I post mostly nature photos there.