Monday, May 30, 2011

Running Away


Last Tuesday evening we went to a visitation for a distant relative of mine. Trying to organize my thoughts about the time, I wrote this poem on the way home--

lines of people
with glistening eyes
smiling out of long faces
watching a slide show 
seeing a life lived well
and celebrating despite
the end

one lady leaves
her wheelchair-confined sister,
and comes to tell us that
her sister's very hours are numbered,
ticking fast, faster, fastest
but we all hear it
the sound of life
running away
and everyone hopes
that death is another word for
beginning.

I didn't realize it then, but I was really exploring the cycle of life and death while writing this. While I am thankful for both and the way they link together, I am especially grateful for what is here, now. . .

396. flowers on our porch

397. one tree lost through tornado warnings and thunderstorms. Sad, but replaceable.

398. my sisters, a friend of ours, and me staying home alone and watching a movie while our parents went out to dinner

399. nothing broken when a picture fell from our walls while we were watching the movie (it felt very dramatic, as it fell during a chase scene)

400. sisters "consulting" each other as they have new ideas for our Barbie area in the basement

401. "New York Barbie" designing

402. life pushing through


403. a fire pit in our backyard

404. plans for smores tonight

405. the first trip of the season to the swimming pool

406. light bouncing under water

407. green leaves flourishing


408. dancing free

409. explorations through Paris

410. ancestors, history, and something worth celebrating


May you never run too fast to enjoy the moment~ Megan

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Perfectly Paris

                                                                                                                  photo source

I first was introduced to Paris
Through a book about a girl
Who went to Monet’s garden.
                                                                                             
I loved the idea of seeing the waterlilies, 
But did not like the book itself.
I wished I was The Girl.

The next time I met a bit of France
Was when friends of ours had
A French-speaking foreign exchange student.

She read a poem to us in French
And the words wrapped around the room, enveloping me.
It sounded like another way to sing.


A couple of years later, I started learning French myself.
As both my parents had studied it and crossed the ocean to practice,
It seemed only natural that I should learn too.

Ballet classes had made me familiar
With certain French words
And I was excited to learn more. 



Finally, just a few months ago,
A dear friend of mine visited Paris
And did the next best thing to taking me with her— she brought me a hat.

I wore my hat whenever we left the house
And enjoyed the idea of having something from Paris.
It felt like a delicious secret.


One cold day, coming out of the movie theater, a lady asked,
“Where did you get that hat?”
I told her that it was a gift from a friend— after all, Paris is far away.



But, then again, is it?


                                
                                        Merci, Anita, for organizing this Paris fun! ~ Megan