Twinkle in Your Eye

  Twinkle in Your Eye

Something draws me there.
Down the stairs
 to the very gate you went through
to play tennis
that Spring day so long ago.
I can’t go in because the door is locked,
but I don’t actually need to.
I sit for a bit,
start to quietly speak,
soon realize that no words really fit.
I listen…
to melodic songs of  birds,
gentle rusting of leaves,
calm cadence of breath.
I look over to the place
where I know you collapsed.
I sigh,
raise my eyes,
 notice how much the trees have grown
in the years since.
Then -
a warm memory of me
going deep for a backhand
during a mixed doubles tournament.
Reaching for the fence to stop my momentum,
but instead going right through a tarp
that hung for a door in those days.
I disappeared,
tumbled down the hill,
then struggled to get up
because I was laughing so hard.
I can see the twinkle in your eye
that appeared as soon as you knew
I was okay.
I feel a soft peace
all through this me that I am now,
the me that I know you saw all along,
that same delightful twinkle
ever present.

Sarah Carlson
June 30, 2024

Our garden wedding - June 30, 1979

 

Gentle Dawning

 Gentle Dawning

 
This morning,
in that time between sleep and wake,
varied thoughts and feelings
drift softly.
There is a wondering present,
“Why do I write? Am I heard?
Does it matter?…”
Then, birdsong takes over.
I feel an inner delight at knowing
some singers in the sweet serenade:
Red-eyed Vireo,
Tufted Titmouse,
Veery,
Eastern Phoebe.
(Thanks Maine Master Naturalist Program)
I listen for a bit,
then realize something else
is pulling at me, too.
 I sit up, glance out the window
to see a double rainbow
arch across a pinkish-blue sky
and the woods behind my home.
No rain,
only wispy clouds,
but for just a few moments
there it is.
And then I
    sigh
and smile
at this gentle dawning -
“Yes, I am heard.”
Thank you birds,
thank you sky,
thank you Health
thank you words that
flow on through.

Sarah Carlson
June 17, 2024

Slow Melt

Breiðamerkursandur, Iceland

 Slow Melt

I lay on a black sand beach
on the edge of the North Atlantic,
under a blue Icelandic sky
with family.
Every once in a while one of us
says something like,
“We’re at the beach…in Iceland… together…
in April … among icebergs…!”
The air currents near the ground
are gentle
 and I feel my whole self settle.
Grandson Otto
stretches his body along my leg,
continues to play with monster trucks
in the rocky, sparkly sand.
I turn my head to watch a chunk of ice
slowly rolling in the surf.
I listen and feel the rhythms …
waves, birds, seals, wind,
hearts, breath.
 The warmth of love
 spreads throughout my being.
His love, my love, their love.
I scan the beach and see
a wide array of
bergy remnants
glistening in the late spring sun.
What a journey they’ve had,
landing here in this beautiful place
of transition.
A slow melt,
unique to each,
that leads to possibilities
and a whole
new flow.

Sarah Carlson
June 16, 2024

A Loving Gift

 A Loving Gift

Not long ago,
on my birthday in fact,
Mama asked you this question
as we were having lunch -
“Otto, what do you love best about Oma?”
You looked at me
with such a tender expression.
Our eyes locked,
your body quivered  a bit,
and then your whole being
seemed to smile.
Thoughts softened to feelings,
feelings to the truth of connection
all within a matter of moments.
With your 3-year-old wisdom
you conveyed
so much more
than words could ever say.
I get it,
I feel it,
I know it.
I love you that much, too.

Sarah Carlson
June 16, 2024