Full of Days

In the Old Testament’s Book of Job, it is said of Job that he died…”Old and full of days”. What a way to go. We should all be so blessed as to die…”Old and full of days”. Full of days that mattered. Full of days that made a difference somehow. Not just days that passed, but days that passed well. Days when you laughed all your laughter. Days when you cried all your tears. Days when you tried something new and succeeded…or failed, but you tried. Days when you tried to mend damage done by you or forgive damage done to you. Days when you loved and lost…yet were brave enough to love again. Days when you let yourself dream of better days…for yourself…your loved ones…your world. I know I’ve let too many of those days get away. I’ve left too many just taking up space on long forgotten calendars. I hope I can do more with the days I have left. I hope I can leave this world…”Old and full of days”.

There's a Warm Wind Tonight

There’s a warm wind tonight and the leaves are taking flight. It’s a joyful dance they do across the fields. The clouds hang low on the horizon in this late October sky...drifting slowly across the face of a golden, harvest moon. Soon enough they will be snow clouds hanging in black skies on crystal nights...drifting slowly across the face of a silver, frozen moon. Soon enough that warm wind will turn into one that blusters and bites. Soon enough we’ll all be settling in for our long winter’s nap. And soon enough will be here soon enough. But there’s a warm wind tonight and the leaves are taking flight. It’s a joyful dance they do across the fields.

Points of Reference

My oldest granddaughter is 6 now. So smart...yet so much to learn. Love you Mia. Think back to when you were 5 or 6 years old. Remember how long a year used to be? It took forever for Christmas to come. These days the years just seem to fly by. But consider this. Consider your point of reference. When you were 5, one year was an entire 5th of your life. Today, if you’re say 40, one year is a considerably smaller segment. Point of reference. Keep it in mind when your child suffers his or her first broken heart. They don’t have the same point of reference you do. It’s their first. They have nothing to compare it too. Keep it in mind when your kid loses that first big game. He or she doesn’t have a history of wins and losses like you do. They don’t know they’ll get over it because they’ve never had to before. No matter how hard we try we can’t teach experience. And experience is everyone’s point of reference. A 5 year old will never have a 40 year old’s slant on how fast time flies. A 15 year old will never have a 50 year old’s understanding of whether a heart is truly broken or just dented a little. Point of reference. Think about it.

Slanted Rays and Colored Days

I've been asked to repeat this. Thanks for asking----Fall will be here soon. Arriving with her many colors like bright burning embers of summer’s dying fire. Beautiful, but brief. Marking the cooling of the air...the lowering of the clouds...and the coming of Winter’s silver blue. The slanted rays and colored days, as Lightfoot put it, stir many emotions. There’s a certain sadness about a lonely chevron of wild geese in the distant sky. And the rattle of dry leaves on shivering, skeleton trees. Night falls sooner and seems a shade darker. It’s a bittersweet time of memories...loves lost and found and old friends and family past and gone. For me...I know I miss my Dad more in the Fall. I do love the Fall though. Sweater weather and nightly fires in the fireplace. For all the endings Fall brings it’s also such a gateway of promise and good times. Soon will come the little ghosts and goblins of Halloween. The warmth and good cheer of Thanksgiving. The magic of Christmas. The hope of a brand New Year. Fall...the bright burning embers of Summer’s dying fire. The season of what might have been. The season of what could be.

Every Now And Then

Every now and then, it’s a cold November sky. It’s a tear never cried. It’s a smile that was lost long ago. Every now and then, it’s the taste of the wine. It’s the passing of time...the shadows from the moonlight through the window. Every now and then, as evening falls all around and the beating of my heart is the only sound...I remember. Every now and then, it’s the dancing of a candle in the dark. It’s someone’s innocent casual remark. It’s a snow cloud racing with the moon. Every now and then, it’s the embers of a fire as it dies. It’s a face in a crowd passing by. It’s a moment that’s over too soon. Every now and then, as evening falls all around and the beating of my heart is the only sound...I remember. I’m spending too much time with ghosts upon this sacred ground. My apologies.

Did You Know I Was There?

Did you know I was there that day? I stood for quite a while on that ocean, windswept hill on Cape Cod. Did you know I was there? What brought you to this place…adventure…escape…duty? Was this your home or a stop along the way? What were your hopes? What were your dreams? Did you have blue eyes? Did you like to laugh? Were you afraid of the dark? Did you have freckles? Could we have been friends? Centuries separate us, yet you will always be a young woman taken too soon. And I remain the older man who wondered who you were. I stood for quite a while on that ocean, windswept hill on Cape Cod. I stood for quite a while on that sacred ground. Did you know I was there? The stone read; In Memory of Phebe Brown, Wife of Samuel Hinkley Brown, Died June 1st 1795 in the 23rd year of her Age