Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
Memories in the Mist
I know I’ll never see this tree again,
So on this fog-swept morning I arise
to venture forth, despite the mist of rain
and soft, escaping tears that wet my eyes.
For decades, summer songs revitalized,
And friends, both old and new, were gayly met,
We came with notes, some nearly memorized,
To blend in choral tones we’ll ne’er forget.
So on this morn, I draft this epithet,
A tribute to what BCI has meant
to me and hundreds, some I’ve never met,
I breathe a sigh of sadness, yet content.
These hills have been alive with glorious sound,
Satisfied, I’ve reaped the blessings that abound.
Last week, I sang the Verdi Requiem; the final concert of Berkshire Choral International in Sheffield, Ma. More than three hundred singers came from states and countries far and wide, and ended the week in a glorious finale at the Stewart Center on campus. BCI will continue at wonderful venues around the world, but this place nestled at the foot of the mountain, will remain in my heart.
Memories and emotions are too numerous and complicated to explain in a single post, so I offer instead this simple, almost plaintive photo from my last, fog draped morning on campus.
Matryoshka Mélange
As I peered into the display at The Russian Tea Room, I wondered how long it might have taken someone to lovingly and carefully arrange the exquisite Matryoshka (nested dolls) and Russian eggs (a la Fabergé); and whether I was more impressed by the unique beauty of each piece of handcrafted art or by the display itself, and the obvious care and attention invested in creating the orderly and stunning collage.
None the less, on a day when the mere mention of anything Russian can invoke an extreme reaction, I’m reminded that, perhaps, one may begin to understand a culture by exploring its historically significant artifacts.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Collage
photo Friday: Orderly
Stallion in the Garden
A summer’s Sunday drive can oft inspire,
Though seeking flowers for my garden wall,
Unexpected, a mere spark became a fire.
At first set out to plant-adorn my shire,
Deciding on a vine that would spread tall,
A summer’s Sunday drive can oft inspire.
Selecting floral ties and climbing wire,
Distracted by the floral free-for-all,
Unexpected, a mere spark became a fire.
Before my savings coupon would expire,
I hurried, flitting here and there, enthralled,
A summer’s Sunday drive can oft inspire.
How could I have missed him (I inquire),
I failed to heed this sculpted stallion’s call,
Unexpected, a mere spark became a fire.
Oft one fails to hear the plaintive lyre,
Too focused on the multicolored shawl,
A summer’s Sunday drive can oft inspire,
When suddenly, mere spark became a fire.
While strolling through a country, roadside nursery last week, intent on redeeming my bargain bucks, I wheeled my cart through rows of plants and flowers, in search of pots to adorn my 4th of July picnic. I turned away, momentarily, from the gorgeous blooms, and came face-to-face with this large fountain sculpture. I was in awe, inspired by the wild enormity if the stallion.
Verticality
knit from side to side,
lacy textures, seed-stitched chains,
long-side lines entwined.
Photo Friday: #vertical
In the beginning…
Of course, I wasn’t there, how could I know
Or, really, how could anyone opine
on how this world began, Big Bang, or no,
But if imagined, is this what I’d find?
From out of darkness, nothingness defined
For something had to be before it could,
The blinding brilliance of Creation shines
‘cross heaven and earth, yet never understood.
I’d choose to be transported, if I could,
To be a witness to the mystery,
But all unanswered questions never would
arise, with doubts about eternity.
These sunrise vistas cause me to digress
outside myself, immortal and immense.
Sunflower
A certain sign of summer’s laid-back ways,
Just weeks since they began from dull seed pods,
Maturing into stalks of golden blaze,
Adorning garden paths and porch facades.
Sunflowers, noble blessings from the gods,
Perennially loyal to a fault,
Inch by inch, defying all the odds,
Sprouting tall and noble, without halt.
Yet some disdain this beauty as assault,
A weed-like nuisance cropping up each year,
This heavy-headed bloom that I exult,
Some oft ignore or wish it wasn’t there.
I worry not what others may eschew,
I treasure each new seedling breaking through.
🌻 🌻 🌻
Photo Friday: #Summer
Al Fresco Dining
Imagined glimpse of movement I did spy,
Yet when I lean my head to catch the view
he flits away, I cannot verify
that he was there at all, a breeze that blew.
But patience is its own reward, it’s true,
For not a moment later there he stood,
To gather in his bill more seed to chew,
And may, perchance, return to nest with food.
Diminutive, this finch (not blackbird’s brood),
With delicate demeanor and bright song,
He’s gentle, not a bully of the woods,
So safely here at feeder he belongs.
He seems to sense my gaze is not a threat,
So linger we, together, ‘till sunset.
Weekly Photo Challenge: Transient
Lemonade
Etched and painted on the surface clear,
Bright lemons, freshly sliced, for this warm day,
Or are they mulled within, where one may peer,
No matter, for the senses are in play.
Each year as summer overtakes our days,
And thirsty young-uns gather for relief,
My old glass urns, from cupboards now displayed
on countertop; my kitchen’s leit motif.
Each citrus peel and vibrant, lobed leaf,
Remind me of a lighter, gayer clime,
Awakening again, heartfelt beliefs,
That all too oft are pushed aside by time.
These days of tea and summer lemonade,
Elicit memories; life’s rich brocade.
Photo a Friday: Glass
Irrepressible
“I’m growing stronger than you know,” said she,
“You’re not,” said he, “and I know what is best.”
“I’m ready to break wildly free,” said she,
“I see, but you must wait, your patience test.”
“I’m eager to embrace my destiny,”
He countered, “You’re a wee one, let it rest.”
“My path leads skyward, bathed in clarity”
He sighed; she couldn’t, wouldn’t be repressed.
….
This lighthearted poem was prompted by the stark contrast between the focal point of this frame, a newly emerging stalk of lavender; against the out-of-focus backdrop of weathered and well-established oaks and elms.
Perpetual Motions
A whispered hint from brookside waters flowing,
A full unfurled flag at NASA blowing,
The sudden splash of slippery children sliding,
The ever-widening wake of geese a-gliding,
A court rotunda view of traffic growing,
A hillside, sculpted lanes of grasses mowing,
Or gentle rivulets of waves enshoring,
An eager puppy, racing home, adoring,
Movement may be subtle, ebbing, flowing,
Yet mind’s eye captures all, e’en if unknowing.
Face in the Window
Peering out, he sees me stride away,
He doesn’t cry or whimper, merely stares,
wide-eyed and droopy-eared, he bids me stay
without a word, he knows that I’m aware.
Alas, I scurry off to market square,
With tasks and shopping lists (suburban churn),
He’ll have no concept of how long I’m there,
Yet he’ll sit all alone, ’til I return.
Day by day and year by year I’ve learned,
It matters not how often or how long
I’m gone, his loyalty I’ve somehow earned,
He beats me to the door with joyful song.
There is no doubt, how much he truly misses
me, “She’s back”, he says with puppy kisses.
Portrait of a Boy
My daughter’s boy is almost tall as I,
And swirling thoughts within his tousled head
are spinning, myriad mind maps that belie
the silent calm facade we see, instead.
Snips and snails and caterpillar threads
No longer fill the visions he ascribes to,
He leans his fishing pole at foot of bed,
Impatient, waits for season to ensue.
His high school days will be upon him soon,
And yesterday’s small pond he’ll leave behind,
In bigger pond, a small fish he will be,
I know more grown-up interests he will find.
I’m wistful, but resigned, life’s ebb and flow,
For Grandma and her hugs he’ll ne’er outgrow.
photo Friday:#Portrait
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 