Stories

Shopping For Groceries

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Shopping For Groceries
Just an ordinary day. Nothing special to do.
We drove to the Grocery Store, where on cue
our ‘Parking Angels Prayer’ worked its grace
in gifting us with a close parking space.
Taking Grocery Stores for granted as we often do—
abundance and variety of goods fresh and new—
we pulled out our list and headed down the aisles,
filling the cart and exchanging fast smiles.
Seeing the Produce where fruit and ‘veggies’ lay
in a sense-awakening, colourful display—
suddenly it wasn’t just an ordinary day
as the scene before me began to fade away.
Only Dan, the Produce man, somehow remained
and I watched him as he silently strained
to reach for pears high up in a tree
near where I knew lush gardens to be.
Beyond them were kept many hives of bees.
Their honey flavoured our Monastery’s cheese,
sweet bread, and our own very special sweet wine.
Having Communion there was truly divine!
Seeds, as precious as scrolls of parchment I kept
beneath the bed where I wearily slept,
were carefully gathered for future need.
We had so many brown-robed Brothers to feed!
Dan descended the ladder saying a prayer
for a bountiful harvest and the strength to bear
the burdens and demands of that austere life
in a land long oppressed by sword and by strife.
He turned to me with a pear and a smile,
and then I realized that all the while
we each had a different body and face
that were lost somewhere in time and space.
The scene dissipated as I became aware
of standing transfixed while holding a pear.
I didn’t know what to think or say,
but my heart sure rejoiced to see this day!
To questioning looks I happily laughed.
Why tell them, I thought. They’ll call me daft!
It’s enough that I’m now one who knows.
Nothing is ‘ordinary’! Everything ‘glows’!
How I savour this life with pure delight—
for what can be ‘common’ in my sight?
Every atom in and about me dances and sings
to the music and mystery of heavenly things.
Shopping for groceries here is such a treat.
There are so many ‘colourful’ characters to meet
amidst food and flowers of radiant light—
bright enough to awaken your soul’s inner sight.
August, 2000

A Solitary Mare

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A Solitary Mare
I put myself out to pasture—
left man’s ‘bridal’ and his ‘reigns’ behind,
left the harness and family cart,
left the baggage it held behind.
I jumped the fence to freedom,
went south, then headed west.
Now I saunter, gallup, and trot
with the sea winds of the west.
Through these harvest years I find
more strength than I had before,
more courage, awareness, and beauty
inside than I ever had before.
Sometimes I meet mares and stallions
running faster, smarter, wiser than me.
Then my instinct is to run faster,
smarter, wiser, all that I can be,
‘naying’ as I wish, playing as I wish,
daring to be true and loyal to me.
July, 2001

Timing

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NatureTiming
Timing is everything, I thought
as our heavily burdened canoe slowly moved up river.
I knew I’d soon leave my marriage behind,
only wondering ‘when’ was best.
Freedom and independence called to me daily.
The small electric motor hummed quietly
as we traveled through a myriad twists and turns
on our cautiously chosen path.
Waterfowl watch us warily or took flight to escape.
Solitary bears sighted us from shore and retreated.
No fish were visible in the clear water this trip—
such a change from the abundance seen in childhood,
I inwardly reflected.
“Acid rain over Time,” I said aloud,
as if quoting a scientific formula.
The canoe came up against a strong current
where, despite the motor and our paddles,
we just couldn’t get ahead.
“Like our finances,” I muttered with a chuckle.
That’s when my paddle broke in half.
We jumped into the cold, knee-deep, turbulent water
and pulled the packed canoe upstream.
Finally, we both climbed back in,
muscle-weary from the strain.
Thank goodness we have the motor, I thought.
Then, where the river joined the lake,
the little electric motor died.
“Oh well,” my husband said quietly.
“At least we’re up the creek with a paddle and a half.”
I looked anxiously toward the distant shore
still hidden from view, where we planned to camp.
The sky to the north promised rain and threatened wind.
Timing is everything, I thought.
The lake had a reputation for sudden high waves
and haunted water graves.
Like a Trickster, it was called ‘SmoothWater”.
“Let’s follow the shoreline,” I suggested.
We fought the wind and white caps all the way
determined to reach the sandy beach
where adventurers from all over the world
were often flown in, canoes and all.
At last we reached the distant shore.
The storm clouds moved away from the lake.
The wind died down.
“Timing…” I grumbled to myself.
A few minutes of rest and mosquito bites later,
my husband started to set up the tent.
“Guess I’ll make myself useful too,” I said reluctantly,
my body now exhausted.
“I’ll find pieces of wood for the fire along the beach.”
An armful and some distance later, I stopped.
Suddenly, I was overcome with a feeling of
peace and gratitude.
This is such a beautiful spot. I’m glad we’re here.
I’ll do my best to appreciate our adventure together,
quit worrying, and savour every moment.
It’s really great to be alive!  I told myself.
I turned back hurriedly with my small burden.
When I reached the welcoming campsite
a startling noise came from where I’d just been.
A moose charged out of the dense bush,
crossing the very spot where I stood minutes before.
It ran into the water, as if being chased,
then swam as fast as it could towards the far shore.
A wolf appeared soon after,
standing where both the moose and I had been.
Thwarted by its loss of prey to the lake,
the wolf silently watched the moose, sniffed the air,
then turned to stare intensely at us.
I felt the challenging energy of that stare.
Like the call of the wild, it made my heart beat faster.
Timing is everything, I thought
as the lone wolf disappeared.
February, 2000