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Archive for January, 2014

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I stole away the other afternoon…to convene with some memories made in the lighter months. I went to the home of a friend, a lover of sun and all things green that thrive in the sprinkler mist, sun showers, and morning dew.
There were none of those things there to greet me. Just a benign winter sun, giving light without heat and a breeze not to offer relief from heat. But it did deliver a chill and need to face my back to it.
And there was the walk of cobblestones with surf smoothed bits of colored glass, pebble, and shell in between. We had wandered the shore on serene afternoons with a dream and design in mind, that beckoned us to U.S. 101 and beaches to the south.

And on this day of frost and fading light…I was again wandering in brine soaked sand with the surf in my ears, and gulls hovering and singing their shoreline declarations in the steady breeze. And out of habit, I reached for that familiar hand to hold…and instead found but a memory. Ah, but such memories are so worth embracing and recalling time and again.

frosty cone

Over half way through January and the daylight gets longer with each dawn. I see through the shadows and bare branches that the crow still feeds, the squirrel sleeps, and the critters in pasture huddle near to each other. And today I stand near to the place where the spring roses go to bud, the bulbs slowly reach, and the robin seeks a place of safety to fashion a nest…but this is all months away. For now I’ll unwrap a few saved moments and memories as I stand in the midst of this slumbered and treasured place…the fond things I’ve saved up for a rainy day. It’s not quite raining yet, but those ominous clouds are sign that a stormy evening is on the way…


It’s all good and it’s alright, for I know that the green is on the way…I saw winter wheat decorating a brown field just the other day. And a hawk was on the wing, in search of company, of a meal on the run. In search of a warm breeze, should the western gorge send a sweet Chinook stirring this way…And you can be sure that I too will turn my cheek to the sun then, and let a window down enough to feel a hint of spring on a winter’s day.


And I know you’ll occasionally look upon the hoses for watering, and tools for tilling and turning and planting of starts, seeds, bulb and the promising bare stem…And like a prayer uttered, we look on longingly and fondly, and busy ourselves while we hope and wait. God will answer, and winter will always be followed with spring.


With the gathering of fog on the rivers near to here, I listen to the chorus from a V of Canada geese passing overhead.

Canada_geese_flying

And I know you rest assured by a faded rose hanging in the place near the book shelf, and over the mirror in your room. And know the gloves and watering can are eagerly awaiting your touch, as you anticipate that day as well. For now, I will wander near to the places there on a quiet afternoon, where nature and your knowing hands will soon provide me blossom, bud, gifts of new green, and heavenly scented blooms.


Matthew Landsman

 


 

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…middle of winter, thinking about June. The sun did shine a little today but at 23 degrees, I cursed the sunset and wish the day didn’t have to end so soon.  But I put extra comforters on my bed, and wished I had a fireplace to sit by and compose words of summer, tales of friends…rhymes of my old loves as the frost descends at afternoon’s end.

Walkin’ the floor, folding my clothes…longing to be able to feel warm grass on bare toes, and having a drink from a garden hose. I watched a man at work the other day, pruning the rose bushes that bloomed till November. Even the flowers that had faded and withered still held onto the breezes of late July, the summer rains, and passers by…as did I.

I thought about sunrise at four am, dreamed about an open window and a nap in the afternoon. I sighed a winter sigh and looked to the west, looked to the sunset and realized that I hadn’t had dinner yet. And I reached into my pocket to find but an empty place, so I took my hand out and reached for you there. And I did find you tucked away warm and smiling in a dusty memory, found you waiting for me as I whispered a prayer. I sang a love song softly to your faded picture there…sang a song of lost loves and solemn days. As a mournful dove joined with me in the chorus before taking wing for a warmer place to sleep away night.

Middle of winter and the music is playing low. January slipping quietly by and reminds me to not wish it away…cause even un-embraced winter days are worthy and needful, and make great memories. And I will laugh of such nights in the July afternoons, but for now, you’re all I have, and I’ll have you along with a warm pair of socks and a James Taylor tune. And I’ll sing our song there in the shower as the suds roll to the drain. And I’ll be quietly reminded, that our time ended too soon.

It’s the middle of winter, and I’m thinking about June…thinking about long shadows and the rustling of leaves, and wishing our time hadn’t ended so soon. Matthew

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She calls to me, does infant dawn. The break of day is the night time’s spawn…born of the dew and misty air. A fresh beginning to mark new starts and break the toils of yesterday.
I try to pledge to mornings fair, to dedicate anew my efforts, my intentions and attention. I offer a fresh round of plea and prayer, of attitude grown ragged by the harsher moments from the day before.
But mostly, I embrace the sunrise with a grateful knowing that God had plans for me again and let me wake, let me ponder and and asked of me to honor my gift here. To effect a positive air with these words and a chance that I might extend his intention to heal the good souls, and even the bad…

And I answer his calling once more as your humble scribe……And I thank God for offering me another day to make my way and hopefully make a difference…Happy Wednesday all…Matthew

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Things that hadn’t before, did move under the stress of her fury. She left them deposited here and there, underneath and on top of places. The howl and moan of the night winds are at times an accompaniment, others just a series of bumps in the night that have my kitty on edge, and me rolling over and focusing on sleep again.
She lifts the desert at random places, devils and clouds of dust and silt. Tumbleweeds can sometimes pass a slow moving car, assault from the side and front…hitching a ride on a bumper for miles at a time. She gifts us with leaves from trees a mile away…gifts us with an opportunity to be grateful for the calm when she finally blows out of town.
This morning I am sneezing and tearing from the assault of flying and floating matter in the air…but there is calm, a gentle nature to the day this morning. I hope to see a grand sunrise, a flat river, and have an easy drive through the gap at Wallula, and over Nine Mile Hill. I plan on enjoying the journey, tending to ponder and compose, rather than fight the wheel and earn my miles…
Mostly I will pray for my souls close to me who fight the good fight. Pray for the lonely to find company, the angry to fine serenity, the tired to find a hidden reserve, the resigned to find faith. And the masses to know what love is, and to know they are loved…Matthew

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come Monday…

Monday morning…about to head out in the pre-dawn frozen morn.

I will take thoughts of you with me, visions and memories.

I will mark the miles with a recollection of soft talks we had, mark the miles with a sigh and a quiet smile.

There were some great days, some even greater nights. There were moments to write home about, and some best left to whither and let to be carried away in the winds…

This will be a good morning…to watch the sun rise on a wintery world, watch the mist rise off of rivers, and paint the valleys with fog and frost.

I think perhaps the spirits of loved ones lost do join with us on such foggy morns…and hide in plain sight…and I can feel their warmth, a gentle caress, a sweet knowing there is life in the beyond…On foggy days, I can feel the love.

Monday morning calling out to me, out to have a warm cup, a frosty rear window, and misty breath in the morning air…

Monday morning, I look forward to you, every minute is an opportunity to make a difference, to be made to grow…to be among others…and to share a knowing smile.

Monday morning, I know that you’ll meet me half way and rest easy on my shoulder, and I on yours…

Take care, stay safe and I hope the breezes are at your back, and the sunrise is kind…MLL

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Sometimes she’d come to me after sunset…

With a fire in her eyes…and even the darkness was but a whim.

She’d look into my eyes, sigh a shaky sigh…then peer right through me…

And there would come that smile, that whisper, that toss of the head, a cascade of shining hair.

And that laugh, part whisper, part pleasure, part victory…and all passion.

Then the silence was all around, but for a ragged breath, a hunger, an urgency.

There too was water, a clinging, a shiver, warmth, and a soft winter sky.

An occasional game of billiards, and a passionate welcome at the door, that took me to place where the tiny deaths beckoned, whispered and ushered both to a place so right, so rare…

Some days there was a journey, a turn behind the wheel of classic steel…and lessons that would take one through journey, after journey…and one day came that drive…to travel for a decade, then another.

And in the passing of time came those moments revisited, those nights recalled…laughter echoes and sighs again warming…

But there was always a desire for the creation of fresh memories, new moments…and bubbles churning in the night.

But mostly an absence, a wonder, a plea in the night…and a fond recollection time and again.

Then one day a quiet and tentative reunion over miles, over years, overdue…

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And again I’ve heard the laughter, read words that validate and bring a tear and a smile…And the knowing of things again all but forgotten…

…and I say it again, and again…thank you for answered prayers, for reuniting the one that touched, and the other that felt…then returned the favor…and once more accompanies me on some enchanted nights…

I look to the horizon, to the south and east.  And come evening…I sigh and settle…and hope perhaps for a call…Matthew.

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