I live in Kansas, right smack in the middle of the United States. The nearest ocean is the Atlantic, nearly 1200 miles to the east. The Pacific is 1800 miles west and would take approximately 25 hours to drive. I am understandably overjoyed when our travels include a trip to the ocean. The sight of the sea flattened across the horizon thrills me, especially if bordered by rocky cliffs that sparkle with remnants of the sun. I watch as foamy waves meet the shore, consuming every crevice in its path. I try to memorize the sound of endless space – the cry of the seagulls and the breaking surf as it crashes over and over and over again.
When memories of the sea begin to fade, something very similar takes its place. Here in Kansas, miles and miles of land, not sea, flattens across the horizon, its vastness interrupted by an occasional rock formation, farm silo, or grove of trees rising up from the banks of a stream. Prairie grass sways in a gentle breeze, creating waves of a different kind, while the warmth of the sun brightly glows on fields of golden grain. Here, the sound of endless space is filled with near-quiet bliss: the mellow moo of a grazing cow and the distant honk of snow geese as they migrate back and forth to wherever it is they go.
Be happy with what you have… make it your source of inspiration!
Shortly after retiring, I became a volunteer for a local hospice organization. One of the services they provided was the preparation of a life journal for their patients. As a volunteer, I would spend time with a patient, gather stories and photos of their life, then organize that information into a book they could give to their family. I volunteered for several years, taking a hiatus when a new grandchild needed my care. My grandson will start preschool in the fall, so I decided it was time to get back to journal writing. I contacted the volunteer manager who said they’d be happy to have me return. I look forward once again to being in the company of genuinely honest, often courageous, and always appreciative patients who prompted the poem above.
This is my response to RDP#46 – Open. Sgeoil has challenged us to “Open your eyes…Open your heart…Open the door”, so I say – Yes, let’s do that – with volunteerism! There is always a cause out there that can use our help!
On Father’s Day, I am thankful for the Dads who protect not only their daughters, but all the girls in the world by being men who are gallant and civil and respectful; Dads who take care of those whom they could easily suppress but wouldn’t dare—because they are Fathers! I am thankful for the Dads who set good examples for their sons by nurturing a willingness to help others, proving that love displays more strength than indifference does; Dads who walk the straight and narrow path of responsibility—because they are Fathers!
Once a week for several years now, I have looked forward to the weekly photo challenge hosted by the Daily Post at Word Press. Their weekly theme prompts me to view my collection of photos with a new eye as I try to find what I think best represents the challenge. Sadly, this is the last week of a challenge which has been a constant source of inspiration for me. It’s not that I can’t come up with photos on my own (and I will!), but it’s been such a delight to see how others interrupt the same prompt. Their response usually puts forth a new and different way of looking at things, not to mention some pretty amazing photography and wonderful new blogs to follow! I shall miss it! In this final week, we have been asked to share one of our All-Time Favorites.
I don’t know what it is about this photo—perhaps the colors, the toes, the wisp of hair across her face, or maybe the innocence—but it will forever be one of my all-time favorites!
In the sluggish haze of morning I notice a door
which I cautiously approach and find is open.
I pause but can’t resist crossing the threshold.
Ignoring the lump in my throat,
I toss apprehension aside and begin to explore.
I sense I may have already been here,
in another time, another space, another “me”.
Soon I realize this is where I
neatly folded my dreams and packed them away,
finding them easier to forget than to pursue.
I gather my empty hopes and lost ambitions
then tuck them, one by one, into a box I once discarded
by the door. I think how fortunate it is that I stumbled
across them now, at this very moment,
when I need them the most.
I pass back through the door with my box of dreams,
a prized possession I clutch tightly to my chest.
A creak of the door tells me it has closed behind me.
A click of the lock suggests I’ll never be going back.
There is no need—I found my dreams!
This poem “A Box of Dreams” is featured on vox poetica today.