Gifts from the rain

I think I’m going to get a t-shirt made that reads: I survived the wettest March on record in Portland. Yes, all you kind people who told me, “It rains all the time in Portland – why would you want to move there?”, you are correct! It does rain here quite a bit, but today the sun came out for a long overdue visit, and I hurried out to take some pictures of the beauty that is a result of all that rain. I saw so many others with cameras in hand, giddy at the break from the rainy days. But truth be told, I will take the constant wetness of rain over the bone-chilling cold of a Minnesota winter any day. I forgive Portland for raining so much lately, and I still find myself in love with this lovely city of so much color.

Gifts on a rainy day

Today was going to be an “inside day”, as I watched the rain pouring down on my skylight, and heard the wind whipping all around. But then my soul had other plans, bringing to me the delicious thought of walking in the rain with my charming red umbrella, my sights focused on having a nice cup of coffee somewhere. And I found a delightful coffeehouse I had not been to before, where I became inspired to write a new poem. I had failed to bring any paper or pen with me, but the nice young man at the counter found me a pen as well as some paper, so I didn’t have to use a napkin as I had originally planned. After I left the coffeehouse, I was led to a bookstore nearby, where I was led to a wonderful book about angels that just happened to be on sale. And as I walked home, the bottoms of my jeans soaked and dragging on the sidewalk, I was given a final gift. I spied the row of bright red tulips, shyly poking their heads out in the cold rain, as if to tell me, “Don’t worry, spring will be here soon!”

Joy’s Disguises

 

I found joy

In the gray blanket of sky

In the cold, wet raindrops that tickled me

In the wind that blew my umbrella inside out

 

I found joy

At the little round table of wood

That held my plain white coffee cup

That contained the warm, brown elixir

That chased away the chill in my bones

As I gazed out the rain splattered window

 

I found joy

As I listened to Patsy Cline singing “I Fall to Pieces”

As we all sat at our separate tables, sipping our coffee

As I watched the rain walkers strolling outside

 

I found joy

In the disguises

Of blindly perceived separation from one another

Of the dreary delusions of a cold, rainy day

Of all I had previously thought of

As joyless

 

 

 

 

 

Water washes over me

During my life thus far, I have experienced water in all its forms; rain, snow, sleet, hail – all the conditions that encompass the oath of the ever faithful mail carrier to complete their appointed rounds. I was born and raised in water friendly Minnesota, lovingly described on its license plates as the “Land of 10,000 Lakes”. It makes for a stunning landscape, all those lakes, with Lake Superior calling to me with its siren song of immense beauty. But I soon grew tired of the frozen form of water, the snow that would blanket the ground each winter, and the winter of 2010/2011 was like some kind of cruel marathon that Mother Nature seemed to be running. After cleaning snow off my car in mid-April, I wrote a poem lamenting the endless winter and set my sights westward. I could now hear the ocean calling me, just like when you hold a shell to your ear and hear the roar of the waves. And I had a vision of the Oregon coast, so clear in my mind. It wasn’t pretty and sun drenched like the Southern California coast. No, my ocean was cloudy and windy, with waves that angrily rolled in, all cold and foamy. And once I moved to Portland, and made my first trip to the coast, I saw my vision revealed to me in all its splendor. Yes, there is plenty of water here, in the form of rain. And yes, there has even been a bit of the white stuff too! But as I make my way through the rainy season here, I just remind myself that all those lovely drops of water falling down are what brings the green of the leaves, the colors of the flowers, and I drench myself in the luscious color palette of this place I now call home.

Whining About Winter

The snow, the snow

The endless snow!

In December, white crystals fall

Like jewels from heaven

In March, angry pellets of white

Are shot from hell

Pristine mountains of gathered flakes

That once glistened pure and bright

Are now dreary gray burial mounds

When will the melting commence?

To reveal the earth’s hidden palette of colors

As days march triumphantly towards spring

The sun cautiously creeps closer to the earth

It dares to stay a little longer

With each passing day

Come! Stay awhile!

Don’t be shy, we implore

And the sun finally agrees

To stop hiding like a frightened rabbit behind winter

And leaps like a graceful deer into spring

Chasing the snow into the ground

It lifts up sleeping life from once frozen dirt

The Pull of the Waves

How is it that I feel

Deep within my being

This pull of the waves

A body of water

Ocean, sea

Miles away

From my body

Yet my soul

Plants its feet in the sand

And I wait

For the water to rush over me

Rolling waves

Now I float on them

Rocking in a cradle

 Swaying in my lover’s arms

The waves enfold me

A wet, salty blanket

Drifting off in a daydream

Blissful remembrance

Of how the water

Delights

The Changing Moods of Water

 

Water

Changing forms

Liquid drops of rain

Flakes of snow

Blanket of fog

Billowy clouds

Icy sheets on the river

Water floating upon water

Seared by the sun

Water warms

Water melts

Fondled by winter’s breeze

Droplets cease to fall

They hang suspended

Moments frozen

Tousled by the wind

Waves leap and cavort

In fits of rage they destroy

Yet water is liquid life

Nourishing our bodies

Quenching our thirst

It mimics the goddess Kali

A bearer of life

A destroyer of life

When made aware of its duality

We gain respect for water

And it’s ever changing moods

The reality of cloudy days

Just like the rain pouring down on my skylight, the tears came this morning, pouring from my eyes. Grief is part and parcel of the human experience, a great sense of loss when our loved ones leave us, and we feel utterly alone without them. And even though my beliefs tell me otherwise, assuring me of their continued love, life and presence all around me, I fall into the deep despair of wanting to be in the same world. Then I realize that truly, grief isn’t sadness for the one who is not here on earth, but sadness for ourselves in having to be here without them. It helps to think of them in a wonderful place full of love, free of any earthly pain or burdens. But still, grief has its constant cycle, a rhythm all its own, that will play out with me until I am reunited with my love.

The Visitor

 

It wasn’t on my calendar

This appointment with grief

So sure I had cancelled it

But grief arrived anyway

Unannounced

It stands at the threshold of my soul

If I ignore it, will it go away?

I’ve tried that

It always stays

I find its patience intolerable

I give in and open the door

Letting it enter my home

It walks inside with muddy shoes

Such a rude guest!

It shows no manners

As it shoves my heart aside

And proceeds to turn me inside out

I am a tolerant hostess

I weep as it sits at my table

I try not to feed it

Hoping it will leave

I must have dozed off

For now my home is peaceful

Grief no longer sits at my table

In its place

Is a vision of myself

Colorful intensity

Now brilliant