The hall of mirrors where I wander
Gives reflections of the broader world.
Yet, those reflections are often distorted
By my own attempt to fit them in a too-small frame.
Still, despite distortion,
There are truths that can be seen.
Whether stretched or compressed,
My hair is still turning gray.
My eyes still look back at me,
No matter how quickly I look away.
There is no way to look in the mirror
Without looking back at myself
I need other eyes
To catch another angle;
To expand the frame.
Can you help me out?
What can we see together?
I think we are both stuck in this fun house, anyway.
[photo by Lauren Coolman per cc 2.0]
Is a bird self-aware?
Does it see its own quiet beauty?
Does it know the part it plays within the whole?
Or does it focus on the beauty that surrounds it,
Making it all the more beautiful,
In its unstudied grace?
Sometimes, I’d like to be a small bird.
Not so much for the flight,
But for the ease of finding the wind.
[photo by Mike Bizeau from the wonderful blog, nature has no boss used with permission]
Her greatest wish
Was that her touch
Would leave the fingerprints
She got her wish.
Ruth Williamson – Jan 21, 1923 – August 8, 2002
Fifteen years later, her touch remains.
My greatest wish is that my words will echo the whisper of the Holy One.
What is your greatest wish?
What do you see … the grass or the light?
And how do you see the grass without the light?
Or the light without the grass?
[photo by Jean-Marc Linder per cc 2.0]
The missing puzzle piece,
The skip in the record,
The broken thread,
My part is small
But if it is neglected
It can impact the whole.
[photo by Jenn Vargas per cc 2.0]
Wonder in her fingers,
Curiosity on her tongue,
She explores the world
With eager eyes
And lifts the veil of years from mine.
The world, made new,
With the touch of a tiny hand.
[photo is my own]
One of the realities of summer
One day it is a blossom
The next a fingerling
The next, almost too big.
Ask me if I’m growing squash
And I’ll likely say yes.
But, really, it grows on its own.
My part is minimal.
The rest is miracle.
Sun, water, dirt, seed –
Become an edible delight.
I can barely keep up.
I am grateful for these quiet miracles.
And the fact they don’t depend on me.
[photo by Joan per cc 2.0]