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. ♥
By Beverly anna
The march of time takes me on a journey that only I can travel
My journey is recorded
With perfect cadence and synchronicity
With every beat of my heart.
They carry on together…
Time, marching along, never stopping
Always forward… never backward…
While… beat by beat , moment by moment,
My heart collects living melodies
And tucks them away for safe keeping in the attic of my soul
Until the day the march stops
And there are no more beats to keep track of the time
No more melodies to fashion
And my life’s symphony is done.
By Beverly anna
Hitching a Ride on a Memory
Did you ever try to hitch a ride on a memory ?
You know… grab hold of it and drift to another time and place.
It is almost like trying to catch the wind.
You can feel a memory, you can see it in a photo or hear it in a song
But you can’t hitch a ride and go away with it
No matter how hard you may try.
Memories are fashioned with air and precious golden threads of time
They travel down to earth on slow moving clouds
And land right smack in your heart
And just as you try to climb aboard
They drift away, far beyond the horizon to some special place
That you cannot go to
At least not yet.