Blues and Brights

not-quite Journaling, 34

Wee magics

growing
in and out of my hearth,

to celebrate spring, life
and all Nature
promises.

4/26/2022: On my way to the oncologist, I saw a tiny bouquet sprouting out of the trunk of a cherry blossom tree; on my way home, I noticed that someone had stuck a heart(ring) in the bark of a tree growing by the bus stop; when I got home, I found a ladybug exploring the window screen in my bedroom; all these seemingly small things, made my day a little better. Now, if I could only stop bleeding out of not so comfortable places, then “a little better” would morph into “just perfect”.

 

Unseasonable chills hold my garden hostage, but birdsong flies free.

 4/28/2022: A couple of days aren’t enough to achieve “just perfect”, but I’ve arrived at “so much better”. The cough still troubles me at night, but that’s manageable. The weather seems to finally be leaving the 30s behind (it’s supposed to be 30-something degrees Celsius tonight, then 40s and 50s!). Tomorrow, I get to spend quality time at the garden center (I need soil). And then… into the garden! I am sooo looking forward to that. 🥰

 
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writers #24: Your Landscape.

Writing My Medicine

not-quite Journaling, 33

Still no sun,

skies and streets are puddles
of gloomy gray.

But deep in the hearth,
amaryllis rebels
in wild bursts of color.

4/7/2022: The weather is… wet, too chilly for outside gardening. But Ms. Amaryllis keeps things interesting—the mother plant and all of her offspring (I’ve been propagating) are blooming. And they’re doing it about 2 weeks apart, which means that I’ll have something bright and warm to look forward to (even if the weather is gloomy and the oral surgeon is planning tooth torture).

 

4/9/2022: Living with a collection of chronic illnesses makes everything harder, including relationships. I’ve heard heartbreaking stories--lovers who tire of caregiving and want out, lovers who stop seeing lovers as such and spend their time trying to “fix” them… I tell my Piano Man just how special he is, because he always sees me as I am: a strong, wild, sexy, witchy woman who happens to live with a chronic illness (or 3). My Piano Man shakes his head, and says, “That’s what people do when they love another.” I kiss him, and thank the universe for my good fortune.   

 

4/21/2022: I slept through the night for the first time since the 6^th. My body isn’t as healthy as it can get (not yet), but I can breathe… I don’t cough the moment I try to talk or eat or lie down, my eyes aren’t inflamed, I can taste my food, my chest doesn’t hurt, colorful fluids are no longer coming out of places one doesn’t even want to imagine, I can do some cleaning (and gardening!), and I have the time (and strength) to share my words, read your words, spell some healing. 

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #23: Write Your Medicine.

Conjuring Warmth

When the sun sleeps in,

letting fog-drunk
clouds rule the day,

my heart conjures warmth
from memories of being kissed
by the lips of brighter dawns.

- I turned 45 two days ago. I usually go for a long walk in the woods on my birthday, but decided to stay in this year—my Piano Man was feeling poorly from a cold (not COVID, thank goodness), and I did not feel right leaving the house when my love had a fever. Besides, the sun hasn’t made an appearance in days, so I did my walking (okay, my running) on my mini trampoline. My shoulder hurts a bit, and there is a pinched nerve in my back that refuses to play nice, but… I was still able to run. And that’s good.

if you see the sun, do send him my way—hats and scarves aren’t meant for spring

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #21: What’s There.