Words

There used to be a time in my life when words came easy.  Words come easy for me at hard times. They well up in my soul and spill over.  There's a reason an entire book of poetry rushed out of me during my senior year of high school.  It was hard, ya'll.  I felt like everything stable had been ripped from me.  I hurt, but I rejoiced.  My writing was my healing, and I sat in front of a flashing cursor every. single. day.  For hours.  It felt great.

I've had many an aspiration to write a great American novel... or, just a book that gets purchased and read.  In the season I'm in, however, time is fleeting, and the time has just not come.  Where words once came easy, words now seem so difficult.  My words consist of, "Was that a good choice?' and "No, we can't have a snack before dinner."  Words are practical, not poetic.  They are purposeful, not beautiful. At least, that has been my perception.

Many times I've longed for that edge back.  I've longed for the words to flow from me as they did in years before, with ease and fluidity.  I long for that short poetic phrase to erupt in my mind that causes me to put down all else and write line after line around it.

Rarely does it happen.

But last night, the words came.

Let me preface with saying, first, that I've reached a monumental milestone in my life as a mother.  This may seem menial to many of you.  You must realize, it is not for me.  With my youngest (and more than likely last) child nearing *gulp* three and hitting milestone after milestone, I'm putting a lot of things away.  No more cribs, no more diapers, no more size 2t clothing (yeah, she's huge), no more calling her 'baby' ("I a big girl, mommy"), and the list goes on.  Believe it or not, I've fared well with these.  The realization that stopped me in my tracks:  I've more than likely bought my last box of Cheerios.  Ok, not in the sense that we'll never eat Cheerios again, but in the sense that this staple of a 'finger - food' is no longer a necessity in my pantry.  Ans hasn't been in a high chair in many, many months, and we've totally passed the place of them wanting dry cereal for breakfast, or Cheerios at all for that matter.  So the other day when I was making my grocery list and I noticed the Cheerios were all but out, as I was going to write it on my list I thought, "I don't really need these."  And it hit me.  Like a ton of falling bricks.  For the first time in 4.5 years, we are out of the Cheerio stage.

It was a series of events after that where I caught myself thinking, "I can't wait until..." and I found myself catching my thought mid-sentence and changing it, "I'm so thankful she's still...".   It's amazing how your perspective changes.

Secondly - this is rough.  It's literally the first poem I've written in... years.  It's choppy, unedited, and doesn't exactly have a cadence I love at the moment, but it's what poured from my heart last night.  Be easy on me.  Here it is:

Leaves on a Windy Day
A time for all things - 
Plenty tasks to be done, 
But my heart longs and wanders
for the season to come.
The groanings of labors
and untimely deeds
leaves my soul rushing forward,
No warning it heeds,
To days far ahead
where we can coast on with ease.

And they pass. Seasons change. 
Leaves on a windy day. 

Yet new seasons, new struggles,
New longings and pain,
And just a glimmer of wishing 
things could still be the same
of a day in past seasons,
But now I look on
to just a stage, just a day 
to get this day gone
and see what new things 
lie ahead and along. 

And they pass.  Seasons change.  
Leaves on a windy day. 

And fleeting and flying 
are the days that go past.
And I taste and I savor ALL seasons,
At last!
But not without longing
and wishing for days
that I'd squandered, rejected, 
and wished far away.
And now I can see
the mistake that I've made.
The days I'd wished through,
The days now gone past,
Are the days that I missed
that I now want to last!
And the mist rises slowly,
but just in a flash...

They pass.  Seasons change. 
We are leaves on a windy day.
Don't wish it away.