Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
The Breakfast Nook
Cape May, NJ has an ambience all its own, with neatly trimmed Victorian homes, charming B&B’s, great restaurants and tree-lined streets that lead to a seemingly endless beach. And the icing on the cake is it’s location at the southernmost tip of the state, Which makes it a perfect migratory stopover for thousands of species of birds, who instinctively accept Mother Nature’s habitable refuge, year after year.
It’s not surprising that several times a year we venture south to enjoy the seascapes, the cafes, the shops, the bird sanctuary and the historical ambiance of the town; all food for the body, the soul and the SLR.
As noteworthy, is the welcoming warmth of the Peter Shields Inn. This photo was taken one morning while partaking of a freshly-prepared, made-to-order breakfast on the lovely porch. It captures perfectly the ambiance of the Inn and the town.
And as I post this photo, like the birds, my instincts are nudging me. It’s time for us to return to Cape May.
Listening to Silence
Upon this clear and glassy, deep, blue water,
Gliding effortless, across the spanse,
Spied by only towering mountain spires,
Gazing down upon my silent dance.
No piercing sound, no ticking time, no meter,
Save the sturdy oar-sluice thru the deep,
Keeping steady, though unhurried, rhythm,
Matching true my heart’s unwavering beat.
And soaring silent ‘mid the wafting thermals,
Red-tailed hawk aloft rejoins his seeking,
He, in his silent space, observes acutely,
And I, in mine, can hear my spirit speaking.
The sounds of silence all too oft forsaken,
Alone in nature’s temple, reawakened.
…
Photo Friday: #Silence
It’s amazing how much one can hear when one chooses to listen, away from the noisy hustle bustle of our everyday lives
What’s in a Name?
What’s in a name?
What’s in this name?
This name is speaks of daring vision, astounding achievement, devastating disaster and soaring success.
This name is an overarching symbol of man’s undeniably irrepressible spirit of exploration, resilience, discovery and fulfillment.
Atlantis.
Of Two Chairs
Of morning tea beside the trickling. fountain,
Attending to the nesting birds of spring;
Of sandwiches and chips for May-time lunch,
The welcomed mid-day respite that it brings;
Of languid, lazed “martini eves” of summer,
Playing fetch, with puppy toys a-fling;
Our coupled Adirondacks now sit bare,
For snowy covers drape our favorite chairs.
These chairs with their wide armrests and perfect pitch, have been in our yard for many years; through every season, offering us a place to take ten (or twenty). Whether reading a book, knitting a colorful blanket, birdwatching, or merely just talking, this has been our spot to escape. But in Winter, once the snows begin, we can only gaze at them from within the cozy confines of our home, happy to be snuggled up by the fire. It’s remarkable how a simple photograph of an even-simpler backyard setting, can subconsciously tease the psyche with memories; too numerous to be recounted but intrinsic to the fabric that is us.
Photo Friday: #Winter
Maple Resilience
Oh regal, beauteous maple, long you’ve stood,
Bowing o’er my porch, through sun and storm,
You share your shade until, in Fall, your leaves
announce (in whispers) hints of coming frost.
Your beauty tells a tale – but that’s not all,
Your purpose spreads beyond your leaves of gold:
You’re often borrowed, tapped for sweetening sap
That spreads atop our breakfast table stacks.
For baseball bats and hefty bowling balls,
For cutting boards and family dining suites,
For cellos, and acoustic, rocking strings,
For violins whose timbres tremble deep.
We marvel as your helicopter seeds
serenely waft in Spring and fall to earth,
Shedding free (from bursting, vibrant leaves)
En masse, in blizzard- blinding sheets of green.
In following your lineage I do find
that centuries have come and gone beneath
your textured trunk; through winter storms
and summer swelt’ring sun, you’ve stood.
Sure as each year, we rue the fade of sun,
We’re oft consoled by foliage on display,
Your hues of rusty orange, crimson gold,
Completing cycles, wrap, begin again.
For e’en ‘mid wintry white, your frames reach tall
and regal, ‘gainst the shimmering snow,
Continuing your ever-skyward soar,
Resilient and resplendent evermore.
Sleepless
I couldn’t sleep last night, though I knew I should. With each passing hour, I recalculated how many hours of sleep I might be able to squeeze in before dawn. In desperation, I played a self hypnosis podcast that should have lulled me into relaxation. It didn’t.
At 3:00 am, resigned to being wide awake, I played and replayed my taping of the Messiah dress rehearsal last week, complete with Maestro reminders about tempi, tone and interpretation; as I resumed knitting another eight rows of an Afghan that must be completed by Christmas.
Performing Handel’s Messiah is an amazing experience and performing it at Carnegie Hall is unforgettable. This is not my first Messiah, nor is it my first Carnegie Hall experience, and yet I know the music and the moment will move me to tears tonight, as I join my fellow choristers under the artfully sensitive baton of Maestro Shepherd.
What an awesome Christmas gift. No wonder I couldn’t sleep last night.
From Both Sides Now
She sang: “I look at clouds from both sides now”
I’ve pondered often on these puzzling words,
Yet ringing true today, with furrowed brow,
I wonder how to heal my crippled bird.
She’s lived each day by loving, not by sword,
Yet life has dealt a painful, piercing blow,
Her days once filled with technicolor chords,
Are (on this side) now monotone and low.
Her sadness seeps within, deep indigo,
As each door closes, one remains ajar
to cast a slanting light, she can’t but know
her soulmate’s gone from view, a distant star.
I understand those words now, all too well,
Her life, from both sides now, through clouds foretell.
Photo Friday: #clouds
Weightless
Weightlessly, it wafted towards the earth,
No rush or brush of time compelled its fall
within my field of vision, yet spread mirth
and wonder on the meaning of it all.
Mere moments just preceding, it’d soared tall,
A single quill, amid a thousand more,
A finely, feathered aviator’s shawl,
A miracle of flight seen oft before.
Exquisite tones from nature’s complex score,
Conquering gravity to keep aloft
a bird of beauty, lifting it to soar
above the trees and yet to settle soft.
It settles softly on my garden swing,
A feather from a dove or angel’s wing?
Photo Friday: #small
Time After Time
I came upon this weathered, wooden table in the middle of the forest where I often walk my dog. As I paused to snap this photo, I wondered how many hikers, lovers, children, campers, joggers and dog-walkers have left their mark on this once-clean slate. I muse that as new carvings are inscribed, they overwrite those who’ve come before. Somehow, I’m comforted with the realization that each generation will inevitably leave its mark; sometimes overwriting, often enhancing, but always building on what has come before.
Atone Poem
I’m mad at me, I let him down,
I promised to wait up,
I tried to stay awake but (groan)
Alas, I fell asleep!
I even took a bath to while
away the evening hours,
It did the trick, just like a child,
Alas I fell asleep!
He always waits for me, so oft
he waits for me to sing,
And once I’m home we take a walk…
Alas, I fell asleep!
I’m such a bum, I’m mad at me,
I read and tried to knit,
My spirit willing, body disagreed,
Alas, I fell asleep!
I feel like Daddy writing poems
To leave for Mom to see,
Hoping to atone with written tomes,
Alas, I fell asleep!
Mirrored Tranquility
I find myself beside this mirrored lake,
These amber afternoons on deep-wood treks,
Or when the trees have lost their leafy drape,
And oft when fawn bound freely cross my steps.
But always stop where water laps on shore,
Around the bend toward the planked bridge,
The mallards gliding silent seem to know
that I gain peaceful solace in their midst.
Tranquility is here, no mind the clime,
(for even ice and snow can solace bring)
But on this All Souls’ afternoon sublime,
My soul’s uplifted free, my spirits sing.
Returning often, finding (through the years)
serenity and comfort; smiles and tears.
Photo Friday: #tranquility
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 