By Beverly Anna
I wish I could keep Autumn in a jar
I’d store leaves, and pumpkins, , apples and grapes, along with golden memories in there.
The fragrace alone would clear away the blues
It’s magic spell would transform any day at my will
I’d take it out on sad days
Open the jar slowly and…Watch golden memories of days gone by slip out one by one and dance in the air disguised as leaves
I’d collect them again, caress each one and gently put them back in the jar for another day
I’d take my Autumn jar out on sweltering hot and humid days
Open the lid and feel the cool air touch my face and evaporate the sweat from my brow
It would blow away all the heavy cobwebs weighing down my soul
Oh, to have an Autumn jar…
Maybe more than one
A collection perhaps…
I’d share a jar or two with my Autumn loving friends
By Beverly Anna
I had a strange dream last night
I was perched in the balcony of an old fashioned movie theater
I felt strange, like I didn’t belong amid those faceless people
Parodoxically, I could see myself on that filmy screen wearning my long, white, winter nightgown
Like an old time movie …everything was black and white with shades of grey
It seems , I was the main character..
Actually, the only character on screen, but one of many faceless people in the audience
I was starring in my own late night movie
Me watching me.
In the scene , I heard a strange whisper calling to me
I floated down the hall
As if by magic, I was standing before a large window
I could see far and wide
Everything out there was covered with a clean, white blanket of snow
An old shovel was perched against a snow covered tree
My stone benches were covered … struggling to be seen
It looked tranquil and very still out there
As if time had frozen
Everything was buried in the snow
And this could only happen in a dream…
I saw them
There on screen, as if a movie technician colorized only them
Were my pots of flowers randomly arranged like bold messengers of joy
They were strikingly bright against the backdrop of white snow.
Each color, bold and beautiful shouting for recognition
I opened the door
I felt compelled to touch them and so I did
They felt warm.
Suddenly, I woke up with snow on my fingertips
A dream parodox for sure.
By Beverly Ann Barthel
Everyone has an invisible treasure chest
It lies hidden in the dusty attic of your soul.
It is covered with silvery cobwebs and fashioned with time.
You can’t see it or touch it in the usual way
It has been there since your birth and will remain till you die
You know it’s there because you have opened it from time to time
With an invisible key that only works for you
You venture to open this
When you need to touch base with who you were to determine who you still are
On those days, your tears clear away the dust and wash away the cobwebs.
As that invisible key turns …
You have to be careful and ready for the consequences
Memories come drifting out
Sometimes flowing like a magic vapor they lovingly caress you
Other times they hit you hard like a strike from a baseball bat
Either way they are part of you and your story
When you are satiated, and remember who you were
You feel renewed to be who you are now.
You collect those memories one by one
Gently tuck them back inside the treasure chest and lower the lid for another day…of remembering.
My Magic Elixir
I suppose everyone has their elixir of choice
Coffee, wine , pot, beer , Prozac etc…harder stuff
Mine is humble, naturally sweet , easy to purchase
Mellow and magic.
Cinnamon apple tea
Nothing like it for me…
Needs absolutely nothing… but oh, is it powerful
A steaming cup scents the air with memories
It can transport me instantly to another time and place
It can make all four seasons seem like a golden Autumn morning
And make problems and miseries disappear with the steam and float away.
My daily epiphany inducer in a cup.
Worth its weight in liquid gold.
Love my cinnamon apple tea…
I could use some right now…
Now, I can go and take on the new day!
Another misty, summer morning…
The air is thick with magic
Memories like a Monet
Hang in the air
The colors melting before my eyes
Dripping from the sky
Right into my heart
There is a slight scent of cinnamon
The warm mist is comforting
Like a blanket made of tears
The early morning ghosts ready themselves for this mystic morning
They join me for breakfast tea .
They are always welc0me ♥
Regular days are like the air we breathe
or the Sun that rises every single morning
We just don’t seem to notice… that is, till they’re gone…
We hustle and bustle with our plans for the day
Taking for granted… that air and that sun… that mundane routine
Until that one day when time seems to stop
And everything changes
Suddenly the struggle for that regular day becomes a daily battle
Air is heavy and the sunlight hides behind heavy, dark cloud
Regular days are precious
They fashion one’s life with
A golden thread of gentle moments and normal routines woven together
They create the tapestry of life
Once broken, the thread takes time to mend
It is a difficult task to reconnect the severed threads together again.
I long for those regular days now vanished… forever
Those early morning yawns with my husband , sharing breakfast, making plans for the day
My tapestry is still mending… unfinished
Still a work in progress. ♥