of the tree shows small changes
and shifts my vision
Written whilst listening to the gentle lull of a piano
Oh how I wish I was a child again
waking in the night full of hope and then
wishing for the gifts that I have put on my list
wanting to run and laugh and be kissed
My face would reveal my awe
my face would say thank you and so much more
the joy that is for Christmas Day
the innocence of a child, the smile that I portray
The tip toe of a child in the morn
gazing upon the tree decorations that adorn
the twinkle that crosses upon their face
the excitement..the anticipation of… I cannot wait
Christmas is for children to see the happiness it brings
the pleasure and the eagerness ..makes our grown hearts sing
for Christmas is a special time that adults hold in their heart
the love that hugs us from within that can’t be torn apart
Grasp the bauble from the tree my little one
do you see the colours as it spins?
scrunch the wrapping paper and watch me melt at your grin
this is the day for you my child… I wish to be young again
To have these happy memories though I have some of my own
I take a backward glance… see me as a child and feel the way you do now
bring your laughter to the house on Christmas Day
so that I can relive this joy… so that I too may feel this way
Any child at Christmas, though they may not be your own
have a smile a simplicity that’s a wonder to behold
so share with any child if you can the day that holds this delight
clutch at the happiness that they share…embrace and hold them tight
I wish I was a child again
Reposted from ramblingsfromamum
Soft paintbrush strokes bring
us to December. Watch for
spilling white gallons.
An ancient tree speaks,
each ring a life of its own.
The stories it tells.
Climbing through the dunes,
sniffing out spring violets,
barefoot once again.
The creek urges me:
Come out to play and splash. I’ve
been waiting for you.
A certain stone, flat,
gray, ordinary, special.
I collect and save.
In our small town the light posts are all decked
in Christmas garb. The carols have begun.
But why? I want to know. The ground’s still flecked
with leaves. The costumed goblins had their fun,
Thanksgiving’s not yet here. We need to rest
around each celebration, let it steep.
I wish anticipation in the quest
that waiting brings. Excited children creep
toward Christmas trees and Santa. But we spoil
much happiness by heaping holidays
upon another, overlapping soil
of Halloween on giving thanks, a maze
diluting Christmas. In my perfect world,
each should enjoy its own significance.
The flags of holidays should be unfurled
by bits, allowing us to see their dance.
This old (160+ years old) Tartarian Black Cherry in the Owen Memorial Rose Garden (Eugene, Oregon) captures the eye. Some believe it was planted by the founder of Eugene, Oregon, Eugene Skinner. The tree immediately, at least for me, makes me pause in wonder at the complex trunk and bark. Truly a beautiful tree in a beautiful garden setting.
Also, given how old this tree is, another thought crosses my mind. Consider how many varied peoples, over 163 years, have stood and gazed upon this tree. It is an obvious observation, but once you think of it, one can imagine the guests, visitors, passersby that represented all walks of life, world wide, yet found this tree hopeful, beautiful, regal, old. It is judged to be the oldest Cherry tree in the state of Oregon.
I hope this tree continues to survive the elements for many decades to come. Isn’t history grand?
The green lush tree,
With ripened fruits finding their way down,
Takes me to the place I can just imagine-
Where I am the tree,
And my problems getting solved,
Ripened up, getting filled with juice of solace,
And find their way down to be searched,
By someone wanting to quench the thirst,
For the peace that being would want.