A cover of clouds and a soft rain are welcome at The Castle. The air is warm. My broken storm door blew open and would not obey my mental demand to get back into place. When the storm door behaves this way its activities produce small sounds that get into my life causing me to cock my head and wonder, “What was that?” I opened the slider and tip-toed across the rotting deck in the soft rain to push the badly behaving storm door back into place. A little rain on my bathrobe and slippers can’t hurt anything. The storm door is where it belongs and all is right at The Castle again.
(The air is warm and the rain is soft. “The night was clear and the moon was yellow and the leaves came tumbling down.” Do you remember those words?)
Mornings like this are so pleasant. The words slip along the brain waves and stand proudly, joining hands and parading, dancing, tripping along with happy intent. Here is something that came to me as I observed a birch across the road beginning to lose a few leaves in preparation for the dark months ahead.
It may seem dark. Well, it is. Enjoy!
DON’T STARE
A sky filled with rain
gentle,
A figure once admired
waits,
Pieces are missing
still lovely,
Waiting to die.
Don’t stare.
A figure once proudly
posing,
A sky with warm rain
raining,
Two eyes openly
pleading,
Waiting to die.
Don’t stare.
She defiantly
straightens,
Head thrown back
proudly,
Shoulders aligned and
toned,
Not time to die.
Don’t stare.
The message softly
renewing,
What remains of her
refreshing,
She goes about her
activity,
Waiting to die.
George M. Goodwin
September 21, 2014
Playing Fair and Being Kind 