Not a Cello Serenade

 

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I once wrote of life
being like a cello serenade
on a summer afternoon.

My dreams then were
full of fluttering wings,
giddy and golden days,
miracles, and owls
who carried messages to me
from the spirit world.

Owl, swooping sideways
into the forest green
I wrote,
when the wild
was my truth
and the ominous voices
of today
were still ahead,
waiting to derail
my perfect peace.

Grief.
Grief,
for all we have lost,
that we hope
one day
to regain.

Meanwhile,
courage, my friends,
till the pendulum swings,
and decency
returns again.

for Shay's Word List:  It is hard to find any good words right now. This is what came. I remember Shay once saying I was Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. And I was, back then, with all the hope in the world.

My friends on both sides of the border are in for some very hard days, perhaps years. I have compassion for us all. And I am too old to think I'll be around when the pendulum turns and turns again. But I have to believe it will, because most of us have good and decent hearts.