Gathering Together

Gathering Together
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On the Ground

People gather together – Friends, family and maybe strangers, too, like autumn leaves, on the ground. Behind each visage, within each beating heart, lie dreams, fears in life and death – and loss. Loved ones are reminisced, and tears fall, while the void of loneliness is filled. Time stands still, like it does, for fallen leaves, and each person, surrounded by love, forgets, for a moment, who they are, or want to be.

And The Day Light Goes to Bed

The gray, white, fluffy clouds

hang low in the baby blue sky.

The constant moon glows, and shines,

high overhead.

The trees bursting with buds

incline this way and that,

like a pregnant woman ready to give birth.

The bunny rabbit scurries

under the dark olive bush

wagging its white cotton tail.

The street light ignites

suddenly above,

And the sun sets in the West,

on a horizon of many reds.

The clouds

linger in the darkened sky

and the day light goes to bed.

By TiffanyCreek

Taking Care

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Snowy Glen of February

The snow was all around today,

The trees laden, of white fluffy stuff, emerged in the gray blue sky.

There was a chill in the air.

No birds were singing.

The sound of shovels could be heard.

The tread of feet crunched in the snow paved drive,

Taking care of early morning rise.

The day began for many a hurried man,

And woman,

Speeding by.

GRB

“Credo” by Virginia Small

“Credo” by Virginia Small
Summer's Secrets
“Black Eyed Susan”  Photo Georgianna Rivard Bravo

Just get to the point,
he said.
But which point,
she wondered.
Is there just one
and how do we decide
which one it is,
or should be?

Just make your point
and let’s be done with it,
he stated.

And her mind wandered
from that room,
to another point-
a rock at the edge of a finger
of land jutting into an ocean.
Watching water merge with sky,
she rested on that point
as waves dashed around her.

Okay, she said,
after what seemed to him
too long a time,
this is my point:
We choose our beauty,
be it jagged and dark
or smooth or gleaming.

But what makes something
beautiful?
We must have a standard,
he pressed.

Yes, she agreed,
and then imagined
another point,
a clearing near the top
of a wooded mountain
reached only by foot
after a five hour hike.

I want to tell you about a place
I once visited, she said.
Let me pull the threads of
a picture-memory
and then
let’s sort
for words
that point
toward
something
like beauty.

“Credo” By Virginia Small

Connecticut Review 2006 Vol. XXVII No. 2

Featured Image “Abandoned Farm” by Dave Dreimiller

“A Day In The Life of Luna” ~ Revised

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Luna, at the Sea

Made a journey down a winding road, to see an old friend and a dog named Luna. Near the coast we stayed.  We listened to the not so distant waves come and go, in a rhythmic way.  The smell of salt was in the air.

The next morning, on a walk at the beach, the tilting fence post glistened in the sun, with sand at its feet. Budding rose bushes, splattered bits of red color upon the dunes.  The dynamic sea awaited the hustle and bustle of beachgoers, after Luna and her friends had their play.

In the afternoon, the sun beat down. Children frolicked at the shore with mother and father at their sides, building castles in the sand.  They felt unfettered, by the rough canine play, of the early morn.

What did Luna think, as she lay at home sleeping, mid-day?  There, she was dreaming of her four-legged pals, from whom she would steal balls and sticks, as they raucously rolled in the sand.  Then, swim!

In the hours, when the night had fallen, and twilight awoke, daybreak returned to summon Luna out to play.  Alone, she could not go. She rose, wagged her tail, and sniffed and licked the face of my sleepy friend.  She was begging to go to the ocean, where she would find her friends again; and so they did.

With every journey, there is something to be learned. On this one, it was knowing a day in the life of Luna, and the simple pleasures it brings.

 

 

Luna

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Luna, at the Sea

Made a journey down a winding road, to see an old friend, and a dog named Luna.  Near the ocean we stayed, watching the waves, come and go.

On the morning walk with the dogs at the beach, the tilting fence glistened in the sun, with sand at her feet, and budding rose bushes of the dunes scattered round.

Time was approaching the hustle and bustle of beachgoers.

The afternoon sun beat down, where the children frolicked at the shore, with mother and father at their sides.  They built castles in the sand, unfettered by the rough play of canines of the early morn.

What was Luna thinking, as she lay at home?

Luna spent the day, dreaming of her four legged friends, from whom she would steal balls and sticks, and of how they rolled raucously in the sand.

Then a swim!

Daybreak returned and Mother Nature called Luna back out to play.  Alone she could not go, so she got up and wagged her tail, and sniffed and licked the sleepy face of my friend, to start another day, all over again.

Journey

Wandering down a country road,

in search of clarity and purpose,

A man saw a barn.

It was a landmark in rural decline.

A place of broken dreams from the past.

The day was dismal, and stormy.

Forlorn thoughts clouded his mind.

He paused at the crossing,

and stood in the wind and the rain.

All around him, time was moving fast.

March is Still

In the forest, wooden trunks, and structures

stark in sunlight, stand tall in their multitude.

Sentinels ready to file into Spring,

without snow.

Inside, the cawing of crows, outside.

The ticking of the clock, on the mantel.

Shapes of sound, poured into silence

of time and space.

Lush earthy aroma of cinders in the chimney

permeate the air.

February, gone away,

March is still.

GRB ~ TiffanyCreek

Cindy

Always had a smile,

My very best friend,

A little older,

At times, my mother hen.

You gave me a name,

I still keep today,

You were the one,

with whom I wanted to play.

But now, like then,

We have to part ways.

 

Others frowned at our friendship,

But little did they know,

You and I lived like sisters

Through our fun, and our woes.

Under the falling stars,

Those warm summer nights,

Blessed Mary, the only witness

of our dreams, to unfold.

 

Yes!  Young, you have gone;

But you got your wishes, too,

With your horses, and children, and husband.

Their love is true.

Go peacefully,

knowing, I loved you, as well,

and in my heart,

our memory dwells.

For if not, pray tell;

What is the meaning of life?

Your friend,

Greta

TiffanyCreek