By Lisa Huddleston
Where have all the fall flowers gone,
Where are the mounds of oranges and reds,
The musty wet piles that covered our heads,
From which we erupted then remade our beds,
Where are the colors today?
I used to say that fall showed us how beautiful dying could be,
But now I fear I’m wrong.
This year the leaves drop without color,
Ashy gray skirts lie around empty trunks,
No beauty to the dying,
Just ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Where have all the flowers gone?
By Lisa Huddleston
Okay. I was getting on here to recant everything I wrote yesterday. Who am I to splatter my feelings all over anyone’s computer screen? Why should anyone want to hear my thoughts? I was feeling sorry for myself and angry and a little hurt. Even at 52, I find it so hard to take criticism. (Can I get an amen?) And after going back to read some of my older posts I realized that what I have to say really hasn’t changed as much as the format has. Actually, I’ve been frighteningly consistent. Life is tough. I can laugh and cry at the same time. And God is always good.
Soooooo … it’s a beautiful day. I need to accept that I am not everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s okay. I find myself thankful for the simple things. My wonderful family. My life-long pals. My dog who finally got a good bath yesterday and no longer smells like turkey poop. The petunias my mother is happily planting around the patio as I write. The walk I plan to take with a good friend this afternoon. And so on. It’s a good life.
Probably, if I spent more time writing about those things, more people would be content to keep reading. I know. I’m a melancholy soul. But I do love a sad movie or a wry book or a deep poem. I just do. And there are hard things in this beautiful world. I can’t help feeling them, empathizing with both good and bad people, and crying over roadkill.
Inhale. Exhale. And today is a beautiful day!
(Last thought on this. Promise.)