Hello, Lunatics! How was your weekend? Mine was busy. I still haven’t managed to pull all the Christmas decorations down and put them away but remember, I have Monster Tree to deal with. Plus, I’m trying to get the ornaments organized with new boxes and packing material. Then, yesterday I decided to do the annual Purging of My Closet. I have quite a bit to go to Goodwill, and I didn’t have to throw away very much. I still need to buy some boxes to put my shoes in but otherwise, my closet is neat, clean and roomy once again. Next up is cleaning and organizing my bathroom. Yeah, I’m such a fun person to be around. 😉
Another thing I did over the weekend is sign up for both of these 5k runs:
And guess what…they’re the same day. The first one is in the morning and the second one is at night. Yes, I am fully aware of the mentality of doing two runs in one day. But, I am probably going to be walking most of The Color Run as both Sean and Jack (my eldest son and Son #3), as well as my very awesome friend and fellow blogger CJ will be participating with me this year! I’m so excited about that. So, doing the Blacklight Run that night really shouldn’t be a problem. And I’m so proud of CJ! She’s been doing Krav Maga (I am considering joining her), and now she’s signed up for a 5k fun run. Such a big deal for her. Way to go CJ!
I did get some poetry written over the weekend and thought I’d share both with you for today’s Muse. The first was inspired by a poem I read by Kimiko Hahn called Pine. The second wasn’t really inspired by anything in particular. I wasn’t thinking of Hades and Persephone when I wrote it. However, after it was completed and I was trying to think of a title, something about it reminded me of the story. I hope you enjoy both.
The Longing of the Pines
By Jessica Scott
I read a poem about wearing an evergreen dress,
how the writer thought it would express the longing of the pine,
and I thought then of the trees near the place I used to live,
and of the pines I used to climb as a child.
Sticky, seeping sap clung to the bark, and to my hands,
my hair, my dress, my shoes, but it didn’t stop me
from climbing so high I could see the town in the far distance
that was at least a fifteen minute drive from Granny’s farmhouse.
I was so light that I swayed with the thin tree-top
as the wind blew, not to topple us over, but to play
with my hair and the pine needles on the branches,
and in the hot Texas summer it was the only place I could find a breeze.
I would stay there as long as I could, enjoying my liberty
-my act of rebellion to being “a little lady”-
(my mother would have a fit if she knew I were climbing the tree)
but the call of the pines and the sky was much too strong to ignore.
Then I would have to climb down and wash the sap from my hands
and brush it from my hair, change my clothes-but such was the strength
of the pine scent that it attached itself to me for the rest of the day,
and I would go to sleep at night with it filling my senses.
And now, with memories of pines in my head, I wonder
if those trees think of the small, rebellious, blonde-haired girl that
climbed their branches and shared their longing to touch the sky,
or did their voices go silent when she didn’t come back to see them?
By Jessica Scott
He is quiet when she speaks,
listening to the sound of her voice-
it deepens here, heightens in her passion about her subject,
then becomes rasping-shoes on gravel-when her voice begins to give out.
He likes the sound of her,
the slight accent she carries without conscious thought,
and how it thickens when she’s among like people, and she can’t help but
revert to her roots.
She accuses him, often, of not listening
but she would be wrong,
for the sound of her voice draws him to her bed every night
and comforts him when his demons try to drag him back to hell.