Prairie Lily Arts

A Love Story of Seasons

I could sense it on the morning air.  In the gentle gray before sun's first light, with my favorite blanket draped across my shoulders, I felt the change of season approach.  The air has grown cooler.   The blossoms have faded away.  The perfume of my ruby roses is but a sweet memory.  The butterflies which danced so gracefully have gone.  One solitary dancer flits restlessly about, having sailed far from the petals of yesterday.  The summer song drifts through its final strains alone... until there is quiet... stillness. 

A Love Letter To My Boys

 
My Precious Boys,

During play today beneath the scorching August sun of Georgia, I listened as a dear friend shared heart words with me.  What if we didn't have tomorrow? 

What if the lessons I've tried to cobble together as an offering to your hearts so far had to be enough?  I would want to know beyond any doubt that you both know how to love.  If I have planted even the smallest seeds in your hearts to love completely, honestly, sacrificially, unconditionally.... the rest will come.  To love with the kind of love God designed for us to offer is everything.  Boys, it is everything.  

No Matter What

 
Sleepy eyes closed.  Small fingers drew his favorite blanket up to his chin.  I can't even remember what it was now... but I had forgotten to do something for him.  I've heard the words spoken often... because I am so very human.  Beautifully they are offered without a need for me to even apologize first.  "It's ok, Mama.  I forgive you."  In the dim light this time came added whispered little boy words I will never forget, "I will always forgive you."

Paper Treasures

 
We entered in silence.  A bit of reverie.... or perhaps absolute reverie!  The walls towered over our heads... warm, dark, smooth and rich.  The staircase beckoned to layers and layers of volumes untouched in silence.  Sumptuous chairs sat empty.  I drew in the fragrance of old books, like the scent of a cherished friend.  In complete stillness, I stood in awe as if in the quiet I would hear these treasures speak themselves.  Such history.  A room of riches among riches.  The Biltmore library.  I am quite certain I could live contentedly among these four walls. 

Our family values books as voices, experiences, places, events, culture, history, perspective, discovery, adventure and dreams offered by another as a gift placed in our hands.  Our favorite gifts become supple, as worn and tattered the covers convey the accumulation of shared moments.

Where is the Poetry?

Where is the poetry?

Where is its voice in the noise of the day?

Where flows the current of its stream as life sails on?

 

Where is the poetry?

Wrapped in the stillness of the night,

Sometimes I hear it rushing...

Roaring with intensity.

Sometimes it washes gently...

A Fresh Box of Crayons

 
There is something special about that fresh box of crayons.  Every hue tapered to a perfect point.  It is the quintessential smell of back-to-school.  Crisp new books line our shelves.  Unopened.  Beckoning little eyes, hands, ears, minds to discover... to create... to learn... to grow.  Learning is an amazing, lifelong journey. 

On these days of fresh beginnings, I pause to reflect on the gift that my family is blessed to know... this gift of learning with and from one another.  Each person has gifts to share.  Each has lessons to learn... including Mama... especially Mama.  I learn more from this journey than I could ever impart in these treasured days... years.

When Words Dance

 
Words...

Sometimes my best friends.

Sometimes my worst enemies.

Sometimes they ricochet in my mind

Tumbling out in a jumbled heap...

Nothing more than noise...