Exposed, vulnerable, scars are deep – some go unseen – just look in the eyes of another – the terror and torture of mind and body no longer hidden – beckons for love and light
Slowly she heals, one scar at a time with rhythm and rhyme
clock tick tocks- life marches on in the dark – glints of reason, art and season percolate in mind and heart
paper and pen flow within formulating words of comfort and glim
time is of the essence or so it seems until the pendulum swings back to start
healing takes time – be gentle they say – the ones who’ve trodden this road before – the ones whose hearts move like the sea gliding over the sandy shore –
healing takes time and this time is reminiscent of a time long ago, a time that only the soul knows ~ Anita Adams 6/8/2019
Ethel Marie Shamoon Henry, married and Catholic, daughter of two and Situ to one, died age 89 of complications while agonizing over the last pages of her memoir. She couldn’t remember the details upon which she left her home at age 16, mentally or 17, physically? She never understood her life not turning out the way she dreamed – college educated, managing her own business, traveling the globe. Ethel was tired.
She was tired of this story. Tired of her life without the
education she longed for and the places she wanted to live and traveled after
she’d raised her own children, she was just tired!
Her REAL exhaustion came when she decided to prepare her own obituary and thought to herself – dang woman – haven’t you had enough?When will you begin living the life you wanted? Dreamed of? Longed for? Or, have you been all along, but just hadn’t noticed it in full? Give it up! Turn it over! Live this day the way you want – with whom you want – say what you mean – but, DON’T say it mean! Life is short! Remember, your last sunset. Your last words to those closest to you. The last color you saw. The last bird you heard. The last smile you smiled, The last laugh you laughed. The last prayer you uttered. Remember, smile, laugh and move on.
Move on to TODAY! Are you ready? She opened her eyes while lying peacefully in a down covered hammock next to her pond and waterfall oasis, gazed up at the clouds and said – Yes! It’s been a good life! A Full life! I have loved. I have been loved. I’ve colored, created art and captured. I’ve said what I wanted to say, traveled much, walked and hiked often. And I married a man who loved me until my dying breath. I’m ready.
Just then, her eyes closed again, and this time, she had a soft, childlike smile upon her face, the sun was setting in the west with a rainbow of colors like the one she’d seen so many years ago upon Max Patch. As she exhaled her last breath. Finally, Ethel was at peace and rest. – Amen.
Services will be held in the local Catholic Church with On Eagle’s Wings playing as she is escorted to the grave site of her beloved sister, Roxane. All are welcomed to visit now and again. Bring your favorite heart rock and share one with another. Dark chocolate and coffee to be served.
When I was young, plans just formed, play just happened, eyes were bigger, hearts and hands opened wider!
Instruments -paper, pen, pencil was best – as long as an eraser was attached at the end. Drawing commenced with my brothers and me – whatever we pleased. Watching Looney Tunes while eating Cocoa-Cocoa Crispies!
What a way to begin a Saturday or Snow Day with chocolate and art at our fingertips!
Art is imagination wide open! A place to explore with paper and pencil, sticks and music by the creek water trickles!
All is possible while looking and listening to one’s surroundings. A piece is created by the art of imagination!
Listening to Joni Mitchell while creating a collage! Two poster boards, magazines, glue, scissors, windows and a jar!
Journal out thoughts – prayers end the day. Then off to bed, dreaming of the next day’s play!
My play days ended far too soon.
However, I still dream of Art on the Side by the light of the crescent moon .
It’s cold and damp this February morning in the Appalachia mountains – bluejays, cardinals and squirrels are confused by the signs of a very early Spring – scattered with drops of freezing temperatures.
I, too, feel somewhat confused by the seasons lack of consistency . Winter is a necessary part of nesting, creative percolating – a time that’s been interrupted by an climate change.
Will the Spring come too soon and all be destroyed with the many frosts that should be forthcoming?
Where does love go when the light goes out? A question he asked once as a young man in his 60’s . He doesn’t remember asking these days. However, the question is a good one and has remained with me. How to answer this? Love is always present within every human being I believe. For some, a place in the dark could also represent a place of silence, loneliness, or the sound of mental chatter grinding away while one wishes for a lover’s embrace.
As a child, I recall needing two doors left wide open, and a nightlight on at all times in order to feel safe enough to close my eyes and attempt to go to sleep. Where was love in this dark twin bed on the third floor of Macon Avenue?
