Opal Reflections
Perspectives through Prose, Poetry and Photography
A Gift of Fleece
This pasture serves its denizens quite well
A place where they can thrive while roaming free
Until, like Pavlov’s dogs, they heed the bell
That clangs in urgent clamoring “come see.”
The trusty Sheltie rounds them up with ease,
Conditioned to their four-legged shepherd’s press,
And gathering, prepare to lose their fleece
So prized, to make a deftly knitted dress.
Once shorn, it’s weighed, dyed, spun like glass,
To finest weight with silken fibers wove,
Or may become a fish-man’s Aran vest,
With course and oily warmth, ‘gainst spray and cold.
Voracious knitter, I, caress the skeins,
Each lovely, though the same from whence they came.
Light and Shade Challenge
Vivid
Vivid
I remember the excitement and anticipation that we felt when Daddy would say (as he reliably did each Sunday afternoon):
“Who wants to go to Grunning’s?”
With squeals of delight we scrambled into the back of his old station wagon that served not only as the family conveyance but more importantly, a humble workman’s pickup. Seat belts hadn’t yet been imagined, thankfully, so we climbed in via the tailgate, not caring if our clothes picked up the chalk dust of grout and ceramic shavings, evidence of the week’s artisanal labors. Daddy would roll the rear window down all the way, so that we could feel the rush of air on a hot, soggy, summer day, and watch with wonder, as the road slid away, disappearing into the distance, before our eyes.
We babbled incessantly about our sugarplum dreams:
“I’m going to get a double-scoop of Banana on a sugar cone, with jimmies!”
I was confident that my decision was perfect and my previous dalliances with Butter Pecan and Black Raspberry were securely behind me. I don’t recall what Eileen or Matthew, opted for, but they too had their favorites, and we competitively extolled the virtues of our choices.
The thirty-minute drive from Orange to South Orange was fascinating, as we marveled at how ‘rich people’ lived, their well-manicured terraces spreading out like plush carpets in front of huge mansions. Â Daddy would drive by way of Llewellyn Park, a private section of West Orange, home to Thomas Edison and “…many other famous people”; where Dad had done some bathrooms and kitchens. With flair and pride he, like an impassioned tour guide, would give us the ten-cent tour, as he deftly maneuvered his junky, old, station wagon up and down and around the hills and private estates of Llewellyn Park.
Miraculously (or so it seemed to us) he’d find the ‘secret shortcut’ (egress onto Mt. Pleasant Ave.), and head over to Wyoming Avenue (the widest street we’d ever seen) to South Orange Avenue. Then, the ultimate decision: Grunning’s in the Village (left turn) or Grunnings on the mountain (right turn).
It’s remarkable that so many decades later, my senses are easily awakened by stopping in a charming ice cream shop in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. Again, I smell the lush, green, freshness of wide open spaces, as I leaned out of the rear tailgate.  I relive the sights, sounds and smells of Grunning’s so long ago.  And of course I remember licking my banana ice cream, in an attempt to slurp it up before it melted in my sticky hands.
Vivid images come flooding back from the deeper recesses of my mind. Wistfully, I am transported to another place and time and for a moment, I relive the innocence and happiness of those Sundays with Mom and Dad and Eileen and Matthew.
Road Trip to My Garden
Arriving here they wait for skillful hands
to lift them from their soil-mussed pickup bed,
To transplant them in well-prepped earthen land,
New home where they’ll be watered, pruned and fed.
They started off, mere seedlings, silken threads,
Until their infant leaves grew strong, upright
in vibrant hues, (they’d never be ‘down-tread’),
And once re-potted, launched their bumpy flight.
O’er rural roads and highways overnight
to farmers markets, where green-thumbers meet,
Selecting sunny hues and fuschias bright,
Eye candy when their journey is complete.
From seed pack, to wheel-barrow, to my green,
Resplendent now within my garden scene.
On The Way to Disney World…
On the way to Disney World with grandsons all in tow,
I spied some topiary bulls that looked like buffalo,
(Or were they bison)? Â I know not but know I this instead,
These boys of mine were giggle-full, with mouse-dreams in their heads.
On the way to Disney World, we met the TSA
And some went through the line with speed, as pre-approved were they,
Yes, I and boys got through with ease but once on other side,
Resigned to twiddle thumbs and wait for others to arrive.
On the way to Disney World I (wedged in middle seat)
Could not see out the window, as I fed my boys their treats,
But what I saw could not compare to sky-scapes vast and bright,
I saw instead a cute tow-head with blankie held on tight.
On the way to Disney World, aboard the magic bus,
That quickly, smoothly and with fun described the trip to us,
With Grandma’s cakes so deftly packed the busy night before,
Our grumbling stomachs kept at bay – just twenty minutes more.
On the way to Disney World these topiary green
Reminded me that dreams come true and wildest hopes are seen,
The destination is fantastic, good, clean fun for days,
But on the way, lest we forget, the journey is the play.
Destination: Distant
Distant sands are whispering unrestrained,
  It is my fate to face the breach, we three
   sail; Nina, Pinta, and my Saint Marie,
     To where the future waits to be released,
      Agnostic, I, to fame or legacy,
        Nay-sayers still rebuke my global folly:
         To prove what ne’er before was thought to be.
Photo Friday: Distant
Broken
Broken
Bedazzled by intensely tinted deck,
  Resplendent splash that hides too well the stains
       Of decades overrun with sad neglect,
Knocking, cracking, warning ever plain.
       E‘en deadly risk ignored by blinded eyes,
  Neath false facade the treachery of lies.
At first glance, this gaily colored house-front and balcony appeared to be a lovely example of Puerto Rican street scene ambiance.  The white trim adorning the balcony is in striking contrast to the intensity of the building’s exterior color; giving one the impression of warmth and well-maintained abode.  Upon closer examination, initial impression is tainted by the obvious signs of structural erosion.  Subconsciously, one may shrink from reality, choosing instead to see only the pretty colors of a gay facade.
Treasure Trove
Like rarest gems they
glisten; sparkling, strewn in foam,
Set in grains of sand.
Photo Friday: The Beach
Lighthouse in the Mist, Cape May, NJ
Bandit
Festive View from the Pub, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA.
Home Sweet Home
Opal Reflections 