Graced with Grace

A dozen roses from my dear Beau!       Enjoying crocheting a blanket in what little spare time I have.

    Its not every day That I get to drive On a meandering country road On a dark starry night. No sirens, no buildings Except calm quaint houses With a flickering light. Not too many cars Whizzing by, Just a truck here and there. Grandpa rocking on his front porch, Grandma pulling the weeds From the garden She has faithfully nourished For the past 78 years. It’s just that. You get into the country And everything slows down And it’s not every day that we can. Children raking leaves, Farms standing among rolling hills, These are the pictures That make my heart still For just a moment. Awe! It’s not every day That I drive on long meandering roads, Along gurgling creeks, And down old faithful gravel roads. Passing by horses and cattle And that one lone Bison. It’s not every day That these are the sights I see, So I drink it all in And I s...

Giggly girls pick daisies On a sunny golden afternoon. Chatting happily, While tossing pedals Carelessly to the ground, Saying, “He loves me, he loves me not...” Then dancing away Without a care in the world, For girlish games Are just for laughter and delight.     Grownup girls reunite In a daisy field, Picking daisies for old time’s sake, Yet this time With a slight hesitation In their voice, A seriousness in their tone. This is no longer Just a game, But they really ask, They really wonder, Does he love me or does he not? When she lets go Of that very last pedal, Will she be letting go Of another dream?     Grandma’s now With curly gray hair of wisdom On their heads, Join hands with their friends For one last time. Back to the daisy field. Quieter and worn, Yet at peace, With soft gentle smiles On their lips. One last time they pick a daisy And toss the pedals to the grou...

Not sure where to begin, A story too big for me to tell the whole, Full of mystery, but a song of grace. I was pondering today, Of where I am and where I was.   I remembered days of old. Those hard days. Days of confusion, Of pain, of loneliness. Scary days, new adventures, Failing grades, failing at life, Those high school days. Yet in it all, God’s grace. God’s grace held me up, Though life was hard, He gave me friends, And laughter, Smiles and kind customers. And when the right time came He directed me to the next stage of life.   I welcomed the new season With fear and trembling. College life began. Hoping it would only last for two years. Eager to move back to the south, Get married and have kids was my dream. Eager to leave the cold winters And depressing falls, And papers and books behind. But instead more confusion, More fear. My ideas were not his. He told me s...

She seeks to write What cannot be described In words alone, But a picture fails to do it justice too.   She leaves her camera behind   And writes these words in poem form.   Looking down upon the railroad tracks. No train passes by, But she pauses in her day to meditate. What makes her stop in think so hard? It’s only the tracks of a train, But somehow it stirs her heart to ponder, To travel to a distant land. She stares into the distance, but sees no farther. Life is somehow like that train track.   Or how does she describe that lone red tree Surrounded by white Burch and greenery. Something in the sight of it causes her to pause, To stare. That loneliness is her sometimes. She feels different, too, And a little out of place, She stands out from all the rest, But beautiful nonetheless. It’s a sight worth capturing, but not with a camera. It would only blur one’s vision and distort the...

Not in a hurry, Not too briskly, She stepped Ever so lightly, Almost fairy like, But still quite humanly, Into the forest.   Really it was a matter Of one small step Out her door That immediately Ushered her into A land of trees, Crunchy leaves, Green and brown and grey, Rocks and stumps And beds of moss Beneath her feet. Trees that sway, Branches and logs, Spider webs to fight.   But it’s really the sounds, Or lack thereof, That perks her heart to listen. That is where The magic begins. The sounds in the forest, Are birds and chattering squirrels, Critters of the earth Slithering stealthily Beneath brown leaves. But another sound is heard In the deep of the woods Surrounded by trees And creatures of the earth.   The sound of peace, A...

I am a country girl through and through But I live in a loud bustling city. Sometimes I feel out of place Because my heart always longs for the country again. For the mountains and hills and fields, For green grass beneath my bare feet and a tramp through the woods, For long meandering country roads, And barns and old houses that tell stories, And creeks and rivers, and lakes or ponds, For cattle and farms and horses and chickens, too. All these things my heart longs to see again.   So sometimes when I can't stand the city no more I just up and run away, I run away with a friend To her Wisconsin home where beauty is just outside the door. You look out the back door and all you see Is land and sky and birds flying high And the heavens declaring the glories of God And the earth showing forth his handy work And I smile because I am mostly home in this place. Its not the same as my southern home, But its close enough and beautiful ...

As snow blows gently down to the earth And blankets the ground and still higher, She dreams of the summer flower.   White and grey, the colors of the earth convey, But total bliss in the heart of the girl who dreams Of the blue skies, green fields, or dancing streams.   The deadness of winter, but hopes of spring, Make cold winter nights just a bit warmer. As the young girl dreams still more of summer.   Sipping on hot cocoa or tea in a cup Or cuddling under blankets with a journal in hand Makes the girl dream of the sunny southern land.   But while the snow lasts, the girl still laughs, Because she is never too old to have snowball fights,   Whilst dreaming of the summer starry nights.