Letters...

Sorting boxes of Christmas decorations to store til next year I opened an unmarked one, forgotten in the stack. It was filled with letters and cards received from dear, very dear, beloved friends. They weren’t printed e-mails, nor typed letters but personally penned in their beautiful cursive script. Most are 20, 30, 40 years old replying to my letters and updating me on their lives. Having read and thought about each one I sadly realized the every sender has left this world. O my heart.

I laughed, sighed, reminisced and cried with our lives documented now lost but not forgotten. In time a particular set will be given to the senders daughter so she will see her mother’s very quirky side. There are so many letters describing her daughters birth and growth that I wish to hold them tight for just a while longer. The daughter will read them and pass them onto her daughter so she will appreciate the grandma she never had a chance to know. Others will be sorted, tied in ribbon and set aside for another day.

Besides the stories, I adore the script. Every one was hand written on un-lined paper with care. Fluid as skate trails on ice. S’s formed as a swans neck; M’s with continuous arch’s; T’s were twisting tree branches. I could easily identify the sender by my address on the envelope as each friends script was unique and I still remember theirs after all these years. I believe their handwriting is a piece of their being. Something to remember them by, and I do, and will as long as life permits.

Hawk-eye

Living near a river surrounded with wilderness there are visitors to the neighbourhood we don’t see very often. This year has been an exception. Well, almost as the years of coyote sightings have ceased.

As sun fades and night rises there is an increase in birds to the garden. Mr. Cardinal always flies in seeking dinner. That makes me wonder if the Mrs. is a good cook; he’s bored with the same meal; or he’s just out for a different take-out dinner.

Mr. Cardinal is also joined with a few doves. Those doves are rather plump after feeding all year. I’m not the only one who has noticed. A hawk has decided to fly in for take-out. At first I wasn’t sure if it did the deed then after walking my garden and finding a pile of feathers I was sure it had ordered out.

So far I’ve identified it as a Coopers Hawk. Unfortunately my bird book, the 1980 edition of Roger Tory Peterson’s, A Field Guide to the Birds East of The Rockies, is a tad out of date. But! I’m sure Hawk-eye is he who perches on a tree stump staring at me at twilight.

While he watches me, I watch him, both of us beady eyed wondering just who each of us are.

cold full moon - haiku

 

the final Full Moon

found me snuggled and sleeping

through the night, til dawn

Summer home in ice

 

My summer home, two centuries old,

where the gardens were encased

in ice after the storm.

It was magical...

Season of kindness

I read, I read a lot, usually one to two books a week depending on the page count and my interest.

Recently I finished “Mr. Dickens and His Carol” wonderfully written by Samantha Silva. It is her version of a Christmas Carol and a charming version it tis.

There is one particular paragraph that remains with me and I believe always will...

“As did he. As does anyone, he knew, who has moment of true feeling without encumbrances, that cannot be got another way. That has no history, no list of injuries and faults. Someone to see only the best in us. For the worst parts are written on our shin in iron gall ink, indelible, and recited on a regular basis, by whoever knows us best. But a few simple, kind words, even from a near-stranger, can say everything else. And that in itself must be a prize.”

I struggle to explain what this means to me. I feel we all need someone who understands us, as we are, without question. Someone to encourage, accept and love us for who we are, no matter how quirky. No matter how people are that we meet in our journey the end all is to be kind. Everyone has a story we are unaware of and Ms. Silva delicately captures this.

This book will remain on my Christmas shelf to reread every December as a reminder of the season of kindness.

await - haiku

 

there are flakes falling

this eve, December the first,

Christmas trees await