30.5.20

Miss the honeysuckle

I can't smell the spring honeysuckle. I usually delight in the aroma on our back deck or on my hikes. Have I lost my sense of smell? Or have we been hunkered down too long, and the sweet scent just passed me by? With the world on pause, shouldn't it be bloomimg ramapant like the deep lavender fullly bulbous American wisteria vine along our fence? 

At this time of #physicaldistancingstillsocial, I miss the honeysuckle, the tight affectionate squeezes of far away family and embraces of good friends, especially when we've had to mourn loved ones. Grateful to be home, safe and healthy with my daughter and partner, of course. 

Miss the honeysuckle. 

The first hint of it in the spring comes as a familiar treat like the season's first order of clam strips at our favorite Keyport fishery that we take to eat on the bay's pier or the first custard cone of the summer along the Jersey Shore's boardwalk. Miss the honeysuckle like that back in the day school's almost over! feeling when on the first warm evening, Mr. Softee truck sounds his musicbox (my nine-year-old self used to imagine a monkey hidden in the freezer truck cranking out the tune), and I gather any change I can find to afford a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles. Now in northern Virginia, I look forward to the woodsy honeysuckle as much as my almost eight-year-old looks forward to her first dip in June's outdoor pool. 

Lots of misses this year as we figure out this summer's joys amidst the pandemic. I see more day road tripping than usual. More sprinkler running, backyard swinging, hoseshoe throwing and cornhole too. 

Though lots of misses for sure the rest of the year, so important for me to be mindful of how much more there is too. Even with distance learning/crisis schooling, more time to explore what's not typically part of the curriculum like the other American histories. Certainly more family time than we've spent than when on vacation. More time for blackjack 21, movie days and nights, grilling and firepit weekends - s'mores included, and putting up the tent which has been previously reserved for snow days. 

In the meantime, I'll bathe in the woods and soak up the treeoil and some vitamin D as much as I can. 

So here's to more . . . until we make it to the other side.

28.4.20

For Imelda














i sit half past twelve in the afternoon
and search for inspiration
amidst poems of death and grief
i've had my morning coffee
i've lit a candle
that reminds me to breathe
with its blue ashen hue scented 'breathe'
i root in prayer
gazing outside my window
the usual cascading shades of sky
are smoky and stone shadows today
as our loved ones at a 277-mile distance
lay you to rest
my heavy heart clumsily sheds tears
and i look for the rainbow in the drizzle

22.4.20

Wishful wisteria

We planted wildflower seeds today. Grateful I can gaze outside our kitchen window, see and feel this . . .

let us interconnect
like the lilac wisteria 
enmeshed in compassion
blissful and tender 
our consciousness 
of each other heightens 
in Spring's breath