Winter’s Artist

Winter's Artist
Winter’s Artist

The budding artist that never quite blossomed into fame is that eccentric old woman. I am her and she is me and the hardest part about being her is accepting her. Once active hands and mind used to create things of beauty now, often lie in rest or are consumed with self-care. However, that eternal flame that inspires still burns inside and sometimes blazes as these old hands tremble and rise once more to make something new, young, and beautiful. Old dreams awake in a turbulent rush of ideas clamoring for expression. Who knows how long this will last and can my more feeble faculties endure to give them birth? How long before the heavy blanket of age and failing health seeks again to smother that inner flame? I wonder is it fame and worldly acceptance that has the power to relabel an eccentric an artist? Or is it I who holds that power in simply expressing what I know deep inside, by that bright inner light, to be eternally true about my identity and purpose?

Yes, I am old and eccentric. I am a winter artist.

Irrelevant?

What if I have written it all away?

All those important things I had to say,

And my creative mind fades in aging?

 

Should this old woman sit silent?

Observing only, as life’s passions relent?

And ambitions fray beyond assuaging?

 

Is this the day I’ve become irrelevant?

A life of experience now, an impediment?

As youths fires of souls in mind raging!

 

Old marries alone; aging artist is eccentric.

Cutting edge technique, an olden-day trick!

Museum dust, archived tomes arranging.

 

Inside this graying head ideas still burn!

Refined, honed, tested, polished; Taciturn,

Waiting for perfect moment, right paging.

 

Old woman’s color fades into the background…

Expert hand trembles to write words profound.

Perfect gems require no salacious packaging.

 

Does age purify the art of the creative?

Or does it stagnate, cease; become vegetative?

Like me, is my art from life now, disengaging?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Survivor’s Prayer

If I am still alive when the bitter cloud passes, may I not I not be found stubbornly clinging to the storm because I’ve adapted myself to misery. Instead, may I celebrate in sunlight as I embrace the sparkling new day the sun reveals. Let me move forward to clean up the damage left by the storm and not be stuck hanging on for survival long after the storm has passed. A powerful storm forever transforms the landscape and the lives of those who survive but help me, Lord to accept and embrace the transformation. May the storm not live on in me in thoughts that exist in loops and refuse to move forward. Make me mindful of the present and keep me from reliving terrifying moments and even repeating them by my actions. I do not want to be a storm bearer, a manufacturer of the misery I survived. Instead, help me share the hope that enabled me to endure. May I be an image bearer of you, Jesus the one who made my survival possible. It is to you that I cling in the midst of every storm. I cling to you now, even though the sun is breaking through the clouds because I need you in good times as well as in bad. I remain tethered to face new storms that soon will appear on the horizon. Even if one of those storms should take my life, I know my soul is secure in you, Jesus. Though I die, I will live. I should never fear the storm but when I do, Jesus, you are always there to comfort and strengthen me. You are there to lead me forward when danger has passed. In you I have hope even, on those dark days when I can feel no hope, joy, or peace. Even when I let go of you, Jesus, I know you are holding on to me. Thank you, Jesus for this gift of faith by which I endure all things to also, overcome. Amen.

Primrose Dream

Enchanted by a Primrose dream in June…

A perfect dewy morn,

Sun adorns! I awake by Meadowlark tune!

No summer will I scorn!

Take my hand old man, still a honeymoon…

Our old love newly born,

In every passing season and many a moon!

Every wrinkle care-worn,

My dear old man hold me and let’s spoon!

Apart may we not be torn!

Together so long, souls and hearts attune,

Without you I die forlorn…

I will follow you! Even as far as Neptune!

Taken by one blackthorn!

Should our Primrose dream turn maroon…

Hold me! We’ll be reborn!

On an eternal dewy morning forever June!

 

 

 

Twenty-Five Minutes

A lovely little stroll on the edge of consciousness…

Fading out and then fading in…

Gathering memories from dreams of Yester-lore…

Reality blocked seeps back in…

Blend time outside of time, a bit of Heaven’s rest…

Slip away preparing to slip in…

Twenty-five minutes of Paradise others call a nap!

 

Married to Pain

There are moments during a rare warm Siesta Moon,

When the pain ebbs and my body sings a softer tune.

Sighs of relief! Pain gone brightens usual Agony Moon,

My cruel lover who won’t let go sings besetting croon,

Beastly howling like a lost coyote during a Dusty Moon!

Our relationship began by accident, a trap by the goon!

I married pain in the greenish light of a Ghoulish Moon…

Day, years, decades pass as I take medicine in a spoon.

Divorcing pain I will joyfully dance under a Fiesta Moon!

Musical Restoration

My troubled old worries wouldn’t let go of me…

I sent them dancing on the tinkle of piano key…

I “Ooby-Doobied” my blues away!

Music lifted mind above the fray!

Not giving me to that from which I will be free.

Melodies healing harmonies begin joy’s spree.

Unravel tight knots dancing play!

Rose memories of a childish day!

Rhythm of life steady in truth at the heart of me…

Tunes of my life unfold restoration by piano key!

On the Day She Became an Old Woman

On the day Carol became an old woman, she shed several tears. Standing in the threshold of the last days of her life filled her with certain uncertainty. Though life is tenuous at any age, when old age comes everyone knows what comes next and there is no way to dodge death. This dreadful day came so suddenly yet also, gradually. Somehow, she didn’t think it would happen to her. Carol never could picture herself with grey hair and never accepted it. In fact she did everything in her power to remain young looking and deny the passing of time but on this day, reality couldn’t be denied. Would she live long enough for her hair to turn white or worse, fall out? Carol didn’t want to die but she didn’t want to be elderly either.

Carol gravitated toward the bed and overcome by this strange season in life, laid down and absent-mindedly, stared out the window, upward into the perfectly blue sky. It was early afternoon, she was tired and it felt good to lie down. She remembered when she never felt tired during the day and how hard she’d worked all of her life; all that was required of her to obtain this familiar, beloved place to relax and gaze at the sky, as she loved to do. Now, she had to think about letting it all go and down-sizing. Tears filled her eyes to the brim when she thought of the children and how far away they are now. She worked so hard at raising them, at doing for others, and now, that she is less capable of serving it seems she is mostly forgotten. Her life once noisy and full is now, quiet. Carol needs quiet at this age but misses companionship, camaraderie, and most of all, being needed. These days she and her husband had to focus on self-care and every day it became more time consuming. No matter the reason, a self-consumed life is a lonely life. She reminded herself to be grateful that she still had her husband and felt a bit of relief in the act of counting a blessing. Then she thought of the inevitable final good-by and the brimming tears over-flowed.

Sunshine streamed warmth through her bedroom window to relax Carol’s sore, stiff muscles and joints. She could see the very tops of the trees swaying in a gentle breeze, as she ebbed into a sorrowful sleep. Carol drifted into dreams and felt herself as she was inside, at the prime of life. It was a bright summer day in a special place. Towering mountains surrounded a valley with a lake in a green meadow. Just beyond the shore-line lay a beautiful forrest, with every kind of tree. The trees nearest the lake bore various fruits more luscious than any she’d ever seen or tasted. There was such peace in this place, a benign but powerful presence that quieted her every anxiety. Birds in free cacophony filled the air with the music of gratitude. Music so beautiful that Carol found herself also, singing. The lyrics flowed through her from the Presence and washed away every sorrow. Suddenly, she was aware of her husband standing beside her and taking her hand in his. Their eyes met in glowing smiles, they kissed, and then realized they weren’t alone. This beautiful place was filled with content, joyful people, all in the prime of life. It was evident there was no sickness here, no aging, no decay, and no death. “This is my home” was her final thought before she found herself awake.

Outside Carol’s window, the sun was fading in a peach and blue display and the tree tops were still. The atmosphere of her dream lingered in the feeling of that powerful Presence and she heard in her spirit; “Trust me Carol. You must let go of this world before you may enter this better place I allowed you to visit in your dreams. This isn’t the end but a new beginning, a revealing of eternity that is new to you now, but a reality that has always been. You belong to Me and everything you love and must let go of here, I will replace and multiply when you are finally home. Until then, continue to serve me. Reach out to others as you are able and point them to My Son. Though you must rest often now, give that time to prayer and meditation. I still have My purpose to work through you here. I won’t abandon you and I will see you safely, through every step of letting go. Then I will safely, see you home.” Carol’s tired, sad heart flooded with the surety only, a beloved child knows and an acceptance of her circumstance that comes only, by trust in the Divine. Refreshed and revitalized, her thoughts turned to Jim, and as she had done innumerable times before, she got up to cook his dinner. Grateful that Jim was still with her and required this of her but also, reassured that should he pass on before her, she would never be alone. Their best days were yet to come.

Hope Eternal

In the blush of a young child’s cheek,

And in the wrinkled smiling face

Of a kind old woman,

Hope is seen with no need to speak;

Good banishes evil, leaves no trace,

A journey to transcend;

Aged kind face, youth’s blushing cheek,

The Alpha and the Omega lace,

And form the eternal;

When child and grandmother, so meek,

Bonded in God, by His Grace,

Embrace and strengthen

Each; to overcome evil despite being weak.

Joyfully, I Fly Away!

Brrrr! Baby it is cold outside! The beauty of the snow-capped Rocky Mountains has a down side. How blessed this old bird is to fly south! I am trading these ice-bound mountains and bare grey branches in for the rainbow landscape with low mountains covered in green velvet found only in Arizona. I’m leaving snow and wind behind me as I head for a hideaway in the Valley of the Sun. In The Valley, I’m sure to find the warmth I need to melt my pain and the bright colors I adore to lighten my mind. Arizona is paradise for people like me who love to study how colors harmonize and collide. It is a place designed for the grey-haired set, looking for a place to celebrate the stage of life referred to as golden. It is a refuge for me and as I pack my bags, my heart sings, “He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock, in the midst of a dry thirsty land, and covers it there with his hand.” This old desert-dweller belongs to Jesus and my Father so faithfully, works all things to my good.

There is a time to gather and a time to let go. I’m standing at the end of my gathering time and with sorrow, I must let go of people and things important to me. Endings are a time of mourning but beginnings are a time of joy. As I prepare to leave my familiar life behind, there are tears as I gaze backward; but then, I look the other way toward my future that is beginning, as tears of sorrow evaporate in joy. Some would say that I am at the beginning of the big END-ing but I belong to Jesus and my future is eternal in Him. As I travel toward a land where the sun shines warm in winter, I contemplate the big BEGIN-ing that waits at the end of my golden years. Today, I am joyfully, leaving the cold and my pain behind, heading for the perpetually, warm green desert that blooms and offers healing time for my sadness. On a someday that may come any day, I will joyfully, fly away to that “Rock that is so much higher than I” and leave all the cold, pain, and sorrow of the world behind. In Jesus, even when I lose I win, and with everything I must let go of, He restores and multiplies.

With songs of joy in my heart, I hit the road to follow the sun to the land where the Bougainvillea always blooms and winter is only, a word. I am a vagabond, a time-traveler, a tourista’ on a perpetual holiday and the road stretches endlessly, ahead!