second loneliness

Dogwoods on Easter 2

It has been an unusual Lent
to say the least
The devotional has been an old one I came across
of Henri Nouwen’s from Mt Vernon
on the Prodigal Son

I am broken open
this Lent
by this old story, this parable of a wayward child
and his truculent brother and loving father

I think of his mother and her fear for her younger son
and the weariness of that sad fear.
The relief and busy-ness of killing
the fabled fatted calf for a celebration and readying for guests,
trying to assuage her eldest sons pouts and consternation,
when all she wants to do is sit quietly
in her chair and be happy her son is home.

And I wonder if those thirty six righteous men are working
their asses off researching the vaccine to save humanity.
Or if they are wandering from place to stay-in-place,
just trying to find a soft chair to sit in
and a cold glass of water to drink.

Its all that ‘second loneliness’ that broke my chest open.
All that second loneliness for the world in all its pain and beauty
All that second loneliness in isolation
All this second loneliness, Lent 2020

april

spring ridge

With reckless abandon, Spring sweeps in
drifting acid green pollen in her wake.
She scorns the late winters chill
riding bareback and bare footed
into the robin egged morning.
What joie de vivre!
What carpe diem!
What sweet mysteries of bloom and bud
are whispered from her tulip petaled mouth!
She dazzles the bees, drunk
with their golden wares
all knapsacked to spill before their queen.

evening walk

March evening storm

the small dog and I out
for a late evening walk, stopped
by the sound of a thousand wings

starlings in their blessed murmuration
whir and whirl in temptations of flight
and chaos, a perfect holy vision

of angels

***************************

amazing starlings murmuration (full HD) -www.keepturningleft.co.uk http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eakKfY5aHmY&feature=share via @youtube

March 21, 2020

frosty morning 2

weak as tepid tea, the sun shines from a cold blue sky
in the newborn Spring. early morning frost rimed each
tenuous stem, rattling dry desiccated, until vapors
rose like wraiths disappearing aspirating vanished
leaving grasses pale bleached, limp and wasted.

fear hangs on my shoulders, atlas at his task,
holding the earth and all her
devotees, on my weakling shoulders, now bent
and ancient, grieving for the world and
its plagued population, struggling for breath
and light in the weak kneed sun on a early spring
afternoon.

leap day

spring bluets 2012

on an early afternoon walk
the small dog and I
took off down the water road
to see if we could spy Spring

sun slanted through bare limbs of hickory
and oak
stretching into afternoon shadows, bruised
across the rocky path
and into the dried husk of meadow

we stretched to examine spare rods
of yearling saplings
for a hint of swollen bud or
risen sap of new life

while the small dog wiled his way
through undergrowth gone withered and lank
I scanned the waters edge for
turtles or mud puppies, minnows
or tadpoles

no signs were found, winter still held sway
on this sunny day
until on our own garden path, we stood
in the color of spring skies-
tiny bluets blooming in a field of green

My friend, Pete

Pete and Bob

Christmas at the Black Horse 2013 2

My friend, Pete Gleason, has left this world and is on to his next adventure. I am bereft that he has left so soon.

Pete was an extraordinary musician, guitar player, song writer. Always with his shaker tied to his foot giving beat to the small drum box, his pork pie hat at a jaunty angle, he would launch into a rouser that would have everyone whooping along. We all knew so many of his songs by heart, our voices would raise, becoming his choir of acolytes. He had a gift that moved people to laughter and tears. Everyone who knew him wanted to sit in when he played, hoping some of his magic would rub off.

He was also one of the best fishermen, really.
“While fishing from the Missouri shoreline of Bull Shoal Lake on the night of February 8, 1991, angler Pete Gleason caught one of the biggest walleye ever recorded by the IGFA – a 8.98-kilogram (19 pounds, 13 ounces) beast has held the men’s 4-kilogram (8 pound) line class world record ever since.

At about 10 PM, Gleason hooked the fish, which he originally thought was a striped bass, after it hit the live minnow he had on for bait. After about 15 minutes, Gleason and his friends were able to get a glimpse of the fish with their flashlights, and realized it was a huge walleye – not a striper.

Gleason backed off the drag and skillfully played the fish for another 20 minutes before he could finally slide the tired fish onto the bank. The fish was weighed 30 hours later and is estimated to have weighed more than 20 pounds at the time of capture.”

His talents were not just music and fishing but he was also a master carpenter, skilled and artistic. His projects shine – as I can personally attest. He gave me the most beautiful kitchen and bathroom I have ever seen.

Pete loved his children and was so proud of them. They were the apples of his eye.

Most of all, he was a loving, dear friend, whose strong hugs I will miss until we meet again.

rose colored glasses

I look at the afterlife
through rose colored glasses
’cause why not

the heaven we wish for
is the heaven we get
and there is no hell

and the love you felt-
from your mom and dad,
when you fell for your wife,
when you held your babies,
brought in that fish,
the time the guitar lick
caused the room to hush
then set it on fire-

all that is just a whisper
of what you will feel
when you inhale here
and exhale
there

I love you, Pete.

*The fishing info was from https://wawangresort.wordpress.com/2018/04/07/record-walleye-4/