sweetness: honey, tangerines and black-faced sheep
On this bitter-sweet morning
I spot the jar,
and slowly,
deliberately,
lick the white-golden sticky.
Spun honey directly from the spoon.
Remembering…
my Grandma Duvall
always had spun honey,
and so many other beautiful treats,
at her house.
As a little girl,
I loved it…
I love it still –
tho it goes right to my head,
and makes me a bit dizzy.
Buzzz…..Buzzzzz
Mature tastebuds know…
there must be balance.
Wisdom is learning to choose balance.
I think of how kind words are compared to honey.
How important it is to choose the sweet,
right in the middle of the bitter,
the choice is all mine.
I suck the last bit off the spoon,
and move along into my day,
carrying the smile,
the sticky, sweet, stolen glow,
of that moment with me.
A bit of healing sweetness
right there in the kitchen.
A bit of amazing grace
right in the mess of my moments.
A bit of heaven,
right here and now,
on a mixed – up Monday.
🐝
AL
To love everything, not just parts …
To love all of yourself, not just certain traits …
To rest in not knowing …
To carry the cross
and to lay your burden down …
To savor the medicine blue of moon,
the fierce sugar of tangerine …
To be a Christ unto others,
a Christ unto one’s self …
To laugh …
To be shameless, wild, and silly …
To know—fully, headlong,
without compunction—the ordinary magic
of our beautiful human bodies …
these seem worthwhile pursuits, life-long tasks.
All is grace.
⚜
selected from/ A Poem for My Daughter by Teddy Macker
to undo expectation.
A black-faced sheep
looks back at you as you pass
and your heart is startled
as if by the shadow
of someone once loved.
Neither comforted by this
nor made lonely.
Only remembering
that a self in exile
is still a self,
as a bell unstruck for years
is still a bell.
🔔
Sheep by Jane Hirshfield
photo sources found at http://www.pinterest.com































































