He sees no reflection as he stares out the window tonight. Only her. A big red bow atop cascading blonde curls. He doesn't feel the cool night air, only the warmth from the hearth and her toothless grin. She is six, and when she says, "Merry Christmas, Daddy," he feels a joy so deep it hurts. It's the most beautiful kind of pain...the kind that comes from the heart reaching what was thought to be its capacity. She is six, not fifty-eight. She doesn't live five hundered miles away, but in the bedroom down the hall. He doesn't hear, "leave a message and I'll get back to you." Instead, her silly giggles fill the air. He smiles, his head resting against the pillow. Tonight he's not in room 29. Tonight, she is six, and for a little while, he is home.
                                                    
                                                         a little snow
                                                         left on the windowsill-
                                                         silent night
                                                                     
                                                                  ***

I've been absent for a little while. I'm happy to report that we had a wonderful Christmas, and that experiencing this holiday as a mother is a gift in and of itself. I have some time off, and my daughter and I plan to visit a local nursing home next week. I did this last year with a group of my students. So many elderly people don't have visitors this time of year and it has always weighed heavily on my heart. Let's not forget those who don't have a way to get out and enjoy the season. Let's bring the spirit of the season to them where they are. A belated Merry Christmas to you all and a happy 2013. May your new year be filled with blessings and opportunities to BE a blessing to someone else.
Love,
Kristin



                                                     
                                                      
                                                         
                                                         

we count the first leaves, one...two...three- little arms wrapped around my leg for a season

Summer's last stand-
the maple cannot conceal
this August moon

salty on her lips,
the taste of summer
from his brow-
the longest day becomes
the longest night...

oasis-
little feet splash
in the kiddie pool

(Summer off with my children=priceless.)

honeysuckle scent
on this warm breeze-
my nose
reminds my lips
of you.

April rain
beats softly against
my window-
showered by the thoughts
I almost missed...


-This spring has proven to be a VERY busy time for me. Then tonight, I suddenly thought of all I was missing by letting this beautiful, green, stormy, sunny, magnificent season pass me by without picking up the pen and paper. So here I am with this little offering of words. Here's to new life!

Much love, Kristin

visited by
an ache I can't name-
winter moon

this false spring
takes me back to
another season-
when did I stop
wearing mittens?

(I'm trying to get back in the groove. Nothing like 60 degrees in February to get my creativity flowing...)

Sorry for my long absence, dear friends! It has been a very busy couple of months for this wife, mother, and teacher. Last month, I celebrated two very significant milestones in my life. I turned thirty and celebrated ten years of marriage with my wonderful husband. I didn't realize that we were too young to get married back then. Ha!!! I suppose a decade is enough to prove that we did something right despite our youth and inexperience! :) I will write again soon, but in the mean time, I wish everyone a happy 2012. God bless.

Winds of Change

a gust of wind, blowing
thoughts of yesterday into
my already crowded mind-
replacing today's list of
"go here" and "do this"
with "remember when"
we had nowhere to go
and nothing to do
but feel on our faces
a gust of wind, blowing.

"Time marches on." How many times have I heard this saying? Yet, never have I felt the weight of that truth quite like I did tonight. I watched them, their beautiful lines moving across the grass. They, like time, were marching.  All in sync, all in step, all in their TEENS. I remember those days. Trumpets and flutes, trombones and bass drums all marching to the beat, making their way across the football field. I, with my flag in hand, would weave in and out of their formations...toes pointed, hands lifted high. My heart beating out of my chest, I would flick my wrist and release, watching the shimmering blue and gold fabric glide through the air, followed by the shiny black pole that would always land right back in my hands. Then gently placing the flag on the ground, I would dance...leaping gracefully across the fifty yard line to the sound of soaring brass. Twelve years have passed and now I sit in the bleachers, watching a new generation of young women march and dance, twirl and toss. I am reminded that time is marching on, and that just like those high school days, another chapter is about to come to an end.

halftime-

so much sand at the bottom

of the hourglass

Rush, rush, rush. I can feel my blood pressure rising as I attempt to get us all out the door in one piece. It's 7:27 a.m. "We should have left the house two minutes ago," I think to myself. I grab all of the bags (between my daughter, my son, and me, there are six) and laugh, thinking about the fact that each morning, it looks as though we are going on an extended vacation. Ready or not, here comes the day. I open the door and stop mid-stride. The crisp air hits my face as soon as I step outdoors, and I see last night's rain, still visible on my driveway. It has happened. Autumn has arrived while I was sleeping, unaware. I inhale deeply, breathing in all the loveliness of the first cool morning, and I smile as a little cloud follows my exhale.

her loss
is my gain-
the sugar maple

weekend at last-
I pour the playground sand
from her shoes

(I'm happy to report that the first week back at school was a success for all in our household.)

Imagination
takes me away
to some distant shore,
where cerulean waves
crash without warning...

sipping sweet tea-
the ice never stood
a chance...

(Believe it or not, we broke yesterday's record today. 115 degrees.)

It's too hot to even write poetry. My brain is melting. :) I believe we either tied or broke the record for the hottest recorded day here. 114 degrees!!!

Lip lock

Well, when my third post in a row was a haiku about a kiss, I decided to group the three together. I guess I have smooching on the brain! It would appear that not that much has changed since I was 16. Ha! :)

salt in a kiss-
the mercury reads
103


he smiles,
remembering the taste of
honeysuckle


your kiss tells me
we only have tonight-
summer twilight

your kiss tells me
we only have tonight-
summer twilight


This haiku is in response one on Warren's blog. His poem made me think of a summer romance from my youth. :) Happy memories...


http://www.thecrowandthemoon.com/2011/07/regretting-nothing.html

salt in a kiss-
the mercury rises to
105




(This is my 30th southern summer...and I don't recall one hotter than this!)