A farewell to summer days.

~

morning fog on pole mountain

 

~

rikki in rio 2~

A farewell to summer days.

 

Time

of the turtle

we withdraw where

in silent spaces

Darkening days we learn

to breathe

within or is it

 

beneath the surface

Return

to the cocoon

From which we emerged

Soothed by the sound of rain

the promise of browning grass

as the high country pales and fades

 

Washed over

with a wave of returning stillness

consuming

as a cloud enwrapping

the veil of early morning

silhouettes of what will be

 

maybe it is the

winds and waters which

hold me

when what I thought

embracing me

was something more solid

 

~

seeds 2

 

~

seeds~

 

A poem in progress.

Words evolving as we do with life.

 

Yeah, I know.  I could leave it and settle for “good enough.”

But good enough is not good enough.

If you only live once, live as fully as you can.  Be the best person you can be.  Do the best work you can do, and share the best of yourself.

A good reminder from Mother Teresa:  “People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered. Love them anyway. If you do good, people may accuse you of selfish motives. Do good anyway. If you are successful, you may win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Honesty and transparency make you vulnerable. Be honest and transparent anyway. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. People who really want help may attack you if you help them. Help them anyway. Give the world the best you have and you may get hurt. Give the world your best anyway.”

We can’t expect others to be nice, use manners, play fair… All we can do is be the best person we can be.

Learn to trust.  Sure, you’ll get burned.  Get over it and try again.  Practice makes perfect.   Not trying gets you no where.

Take the blame if need be – Let someone else be the one to pass it on.  Something too heavy for them to carry will only make you stronger.

It’s not just “the new generation.”  It’s the old farts, too.  And plenty of us finding ourselves in the middle ground.

Oh, the disappointment of human beings.  My self included.

~

fading flower

~

Notes to self.

This morning, I thought I’d share them with you.

~

rainbow over outhouse

~

I have been meaning to share with you my friend, Teri’s blog: http://myeverydayphotos.wordpress.com/

Teri is a talented professional photographer from Washington State’s beautiful Methow Valley.  What many of you might be most interested in this.  Considering the devastation, sadness, fear and almost a sense of personal violation so many of us here in Colorado experienced over the past years (and presumable in years to come as well) while wildfires rages around us (last year’s Papoose Fire/West Fork Complex Fire is described intimately in The Last of the Living Blue), this year it has been the Methow Valley hit hard.  Teri’s words and powerful images tell the story better than I shall try to.  If you have a moment, please see Teri’s work here.

~

a piece of grandfather tree~

 

boys building

~

construction progress~

 

3 thoughts on “A farewell to summer days.

  1. While you and I live in two very different worlds (maybe I should say environments?) I am always amazed at how so much of what you write resonates with me. As I prepare for a new school year of kindergarteners who struggle to keep up with the pace of today’s educational demands (I am am a reading interventionist for kindergarten), I am filled with the usual excitement and worry. Excitement that I will once again get to see children take delight in discovering what they are capable of, worries about the ones who are safer at school than at home, excited for many about their wonderful, competent classroom teachers, yet worried for the others who will be subjected to those less than competent and even mean spirited. I am copying your reflections beginning with, “But good isn’t good enough” and putting it where I will see it every day as I plan, and go through my days dealing with talented, cooperative teachers, and the ones who can only find the bad in everyone (young and old) and everything. That opening line will be my mantra for the year. Yesterday the speaker at our district convocation said, “You’re better than you were last year, but not as good as you will be a year from now.” (Lots of applause.) What she didn’t say, was this is only true IF you work at being a better teacher, and more importantly, a better person. It doesn’t just happen.

    Please give Norman a big horse hug for me, and a good back scratch. We had to have his mother, Blossom, put down just before summer. It was so hard, but she could no longer get up on her own, and we knew it was finally time. We miss her kind, gentle soul, I know Norman got that from her. We hope to maybe visit him next summer.

    I rarely comment on your posts, but know that I enjoy every one. Your book is sitting by my chair, I am looking forward to immersing myself in its pages.

    • Thank you, Gay, for your lovely and heartfelt comment. I am glad you too need to print out and post these words of (hopeful) inspiration, as I personally need remind myself everyday. Interesting that the very things we know we must do to live life most fully – work hard, make the most of life, express gratitude, and live with compassion – can be the hardest. I for one need a constant nudging! I like the quote you shared: “You’re better than you were last year, but not as good as you will be a year from now.” A reminder than we do learn and grow, make mistakes, can work to make changes… and sometimes, just to move beyond, forgive others, and forgive ourselves (that’s a hard one). I am sorry for the loss of your dear Blossom. May she move onto greener pastures, while still remaining in heart dearly. Norman is outside my window now. It has been a slow work season for the horses, and a bit sad for me to not have much time for them this year, as we are so tied up with out building work this year. (Snow is coming and we need that roof up!) A season of languidly lounging in the belly high grass doesn’t seem to bother him much, and he’s still fast to come for lovin’ when I do take the time for him.

Thank you for your interest in Gin's writing.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s