Sunday night memories

It is 8:00 on Sunday evening and I just showered after cleaning the chicken coop, then put on my favorite soft, old pajamas. Having just gone outside to see a bear across the way and fireflies all over my gardens, I now happily have nowhere to go. It seems I am going to ignore the million things I have to do because my mind is traveling down memory lane and this is a trip I am happy to take. 

My parents have been in my thoughts quite often recently, even more than usual. Of course, I miss them and often wish I could sit down at their dining room table to talk with them, sometimes about important matters, but mostly about everyday life which, I suppose, might be the most important matters of all. Funny and sad that I cannot conjure up clear images of what they looked like when I was a small child, in my mind they almost always appear as they do in the photograph below. I think they were both in their 60s when this was taken. I can piece together image memories by looking at other photos of them taken during my childhood but that isn't quite the same thing, is it?

Tonight my memories are focused on the Sunday nights when home was a safe and happy place to be. When I was little enough that coming in before dark to have a bath and put my pjs on was a source of comfort and not conflict, when my mother still washed my hair in the tub and used water running from the faucet to rinse it, when she was always careful not to get soap in my eyes. 

I cannot recall how it was decided who sat where in the living room, but my favorite seat was always on the couch, safe behind the little comma of my mother's legs. Sunday nights were for Wild Kingdom and The Wonderful World of Disney and even my dad watched those shows with us. This all reminds me of his love of fudge ripple ice cream and how often that was the ice cream treat for everyone in the summer. 

Too many memories to spill onto a page, electronic or written, but tonight they are filling my heart with feelings of being loved, safe, and happy. 

I am grateful. 

This is How the World Goes Round

This is How the World Goes Round 

I didn’t want to walk this morning.
But the swallows are flying over the water
and I needed to see the way their wings flutter,
the way their bodies shudder and stutter
until the moment they dive and become pure grace.

I didn’t want to walk this morning.
But a fish broke the surface near the edge of the lake
and the ripples are spreading,
changing the world without making a sound
and I needed to see the new pattern so I can find my way.

I didn’t want to walk this morning.
But a blue heron is flying overhead,
great wings stretched wide, great legs dangling behind,
going from one place to another without telling anyone where or why
and I wanted to wish him an excellent journey.

I didn’t want to walk this morning,
but the river is rushing along next to the path,
gems glistening and glimmering on her gown.
She’s singing a ballad, still drunk and happy from last night’s rain,
and I wanted to hear the story in her song.

I didn’t want to walk this morning,
but there woven between tall stalks of lambs quarter
a spiderweb shimmers in the sun,
here one moment and gone the next
and I must learn that ancient magic.

There’s a black snake slithering among the rocks
on the edge of the path, body twisting and curving as it moves.
The red-winged blackbirds are falling from the sky,
darting to the ground, trilling their songs.
Geese and ducks sail, turtles amble along,
and this is how the world goes round.

I didn’t want to walk this morning
but the bees are in the lavender, buzzing and humming
in ways that I am certain weave all of creation together
and I simply have to know their secrets. 

(c) Sheri Barker
June 2023