Thursday, January 18, 2018

Life Blood

A much younger Live Oak in Charleston, SC
(Not THE Angle Oak in John's Island)
Life Blood

There are few things more innocent than trees,
more long suffering, more accepting, more resolute.

I've walked beneath the stately arms of Charleston's Angle Oak,
traced the steadfast strength of her lumbering limbs upon the ground,
my fingertips tingling along her ridges and grooves -
stoically strong as only a grandmother's can be.

She was once a sapling swaying in John's Island Ashley breeze,
surviving humidity, hurricanes, humans.

And yet, old age doesn't weaken
but magnifies her purpose.
Unfalteringly virtuous, possessed of unflinching strength
that sustains and nourishes.

I've been drawn to other trees -

a weeping willow's waterfall of branches
sheltering me as a youth tucked away
with a book and dreams;

a cedar tree's towering strength still stands
along the tree line of my childhood home,
craggy branches reach out, nymph like,
sparse wispy needles tickle sky's blue -
I gaze up a bit dizzy, still feel so very small;

a beloved tree, long gone,
our horses grazing beneath thick branches
as we dangled our scrappy limbs from above
enjoying a bird's eye view of surrounding fields.

Protected.

Reminiscent of a (grand) mother, an aunt, a sister.
There's an intimacy, a healing, a grounding
that courses through my veins,
making them more than just memories.

by Margaret Bednar, January 18, 2018

This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Wordy Thursday with Wild Woman - The Tree Sisters"

A glimpse of Angle Oak:
https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/the-angel-oak-tree


Tuesday, December 5, 2017

Who am I to Deny a Skeleton a Little Fun?


Who am I to Deny a Skeleton a Little Fun?

My closet successfully stays orderly
for weeks (sometimes months) on end, shoes neatly arranged,
sweaters seasonally separated from t-shirts -

enjoy running my hands over and through
carefully arranged pants, scarves, purses
until, inevitably, the restraints burst

and the skeleton in my closet breaks into his best Fred Astaire,
aping about to the tune of my Mother's "tales"
exposing my teenage vice; she a stay at home mom
fixated (or so I thought) on unimportant matters.

Came home from school one day,
backyard bonfire burning brightly -
Mother humming at kitchen sink.  Gasped
when an immaculate room greeted me.

As a mother now, I smile.  Imagine the glee
I'd feel doing the same, warn my teenage girls
of the possibility.  But then again, if I'm not careful,
they may one day return the favor

and then my skeleton
wouldn't have the fun of tap-dancing
every now and then.

A sign of a sick mind ;)  (My husband's side the closet)
You didn't think you'd get a look at my side, did you?

by Margaret Bednar, December 5, 2017

This bit of confession is linked with "The Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Camera Flash"  and to "The Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - The Tuesday Platform".