Tag: contemplation

Sunset Caress

On By Anna EastlandIn Family Life, Poetry4 Comments

Amidst the usual evening business,

there was a moment of golden light,

when all the chaos of messy meals—

my baby climbing out of her high chair,

little chubby limbs besmeared with mango

and requiring yet another bath,

as the phone rang and the water boiled,

and the seven-year-old pontificated

on the merits of trampolines

vs slip and slides for summer safety—

all this ceased to grab my attention,

which was caught by the light of a far-off star,

speeding across millions of miles of space

to gaze at me on my porch this evening,

a glowing orange ball

peeking through the dark fir trees.

I paused to gaze back.

My daughter sped around the porch

on her running bike,

her tongue running fast as her feet

to describe her tricks in real time

—but I had stepped out,

and was steeped in golden light—

“I am here, all along; I am here,”

spoke the universe calmly,

all its diverse particles coming together

to deliver me this caress of beauty

from the halls of eternity.

Rainy Sidewalk Fireworks

On By Anna EastlandIn motherhood, Writing6 Comments

Morning comes to the sidewalk. The long green grasses stretch their stalks in front of the grey cobblestone wall behind them. They tilt sideways, holding their pose in an elegant still-life ballet—perfectly confident—adorned with nothing but dewdrops.

The wildgrasses primly hold their brown tuft faces still, ignoring the rush of traffic on the wet pavement a few feet away as they perform their morning yoga.

People trudge by, clinging to their red Tim Horton’s coffee cups, their minds swirling with tasks and unaware of the zen moment occurring near their feet.

Amid the viridescent grasses, the dandelion puffs are tiny white fireworks, exploding with enthusiasm for the new day. Drunk on fresh rainwater, a perfectly organic energy source, the little lions laugh at the Starbucks across the road. No need for a cuppa joe here. They greet the world with bright-eyed grins.

The transformation of their blond manes to bursts of white worries them not a wit. They know nothing of paperwork, or headaches, or housework; nothing of gas prices, or housing markets, or wars. 

I want to lie down in the grass with them, the invigorating rain water soaking into my skin. If I shed enough worry, perhaps I’d become light enough to fly away with the dandelion seeds. Perhaps the little spinning helicopters and I could land somewhere softer than the harsh sidewalk under my feet.

October Garden

On By Anna EastlandIn Writing8 Comments

It is October. The garden sags under the weight of the year. Leaves wither and curl. Lupins droop and drag their seed pods on the ground. The Earth exposes her belly as the covering of plants dies away. Yet Winter has not yet wrapped her fingers around the life of this place. 

Japanese Lanterns hang every few inches, decorating the decay. Along the fence, clusters of flowers bloom. In the lawn, sprinkled with patches of weeds, dandelions hold up their heads to greet the sunshine. Bees still bumble about the garden, resting on the centre of the blossoms before taking off, legs covered in the fairy dust they will use to romance other blooms into existence. 

Just beyond the fence, cars whiz by. When the light turns, they idle in front of the house, their drivers unaware of the seasons turning in the garden, moving round and round, tunnelling through time like earthworms, causing everything near them to grow.

This was a little writing exercise I did for a wonderful creative writing course I’m taking with Jonathan Rogers called Writing with Anne of Green Gables . L.M. Montgomery is so talented at painting a visual scene with her words, but surprisingly, doesn’t rely that heavily on adjectives and adverbs. Rather, she uses really vibrant verbs and specific, concrete nouns. For our class we had to describe what we saw outside, but without using adjectives or adverbs. It’s a fun challenge!

And now, since this is my blog and not homework, here are some pictures of my garden! 🪴

Barefoot

On By Anna EastlandIn PoetryLeave a comment

You know the feeling of walking barefoot

in damp dewy grass?

At first it’s cold–

your feet are surprised.

When they warm up

this slight pain

becomes a pleasure.

You feel

it’s not such a bad thing

to walk upon this earth.

Enter my Heart

On By Anna EastlandIn PoetryLeave a comment

Lord, may my heart not be any empty tabernacle

—all shiny but locked shut—

Fill me with Yourself,

make me really able to love

with Your love.

Come enter my heart!

I promise You’ll fit,

not because my heart is big enough

to hold the King of the Universe,

but because You are so good

at becoming so small.

Embrace

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry4 Comments

Lord, I’ve spent so long skimming over the surface of life

like one of those water skeeters

Busy busy busy

Let me throw my limbs up

stop moving

simply sink into Your great depths

slowly float underwater

embraced by grace

utterly surrounded by You

Prairie Fire Under Snows

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry8 Comments

There is a flame the cold can’t quench

and so we joy-filled fill

this giant wooden teepee with song

We reach for the hand of one

whose wounded one reaches for ours

Sheltered in this house of God

by a cone of boards bound with nails

like a teepee sewn together

—holes through pierced skin—

protecting us from the winter storms

Like the people of Jerusalem we process with palms

but instead of hot sand the snow swirls around us

a soft spring snow

full of hope of future harvest

as the fire-golden wheat fields lie hidden

under the cold kiss of a blanket of snow

the way you lie hidden

the fire of your divinity

submerged in the wheat coloured wafer

we receive

We remember

We hope

We live in the shelter of his love

the humble king of glory

Twinkle

On By Anna EastlandIn Poetry2 Comments

Wherein lies the greatness of man?

Is it in his capacity to make bombs?

To build rockets and race cars?

To speed through life and destroy?

Or is it rather in his ability

Despite these other abilities

To stop

Slow down

And give meaning to the smallest gesture

To caress the silken cheek of a flower

And see reflected in it

The face of his beloved

And the twinkling of God’s eyes?

Ears of the Forest 

On By Anna EastlandIn Photos, Poetry4 Comments

These tiny white tendrils

perched like innocent ears atop a mossy log

listening to the secrets of the forest…

What stories could they tell us, if they had mouths?

For they have heard the early morning trilling of birds

when everything else was silent

save for dew drops dripping from tall trees

bearded with curly mosses.


They have listened to the lapping of water

at the lake’s edge,

the liquid murmurs flowing over submerged logs 

soaked with sunken memories

–mine, too–

ones I dare not extract from their watery repose

lest I tumble in and get absorbed by their somnolence. 


These little glowing ears…

they could tell of green and growing things,

of red and rotting things,

and of the perfect patience of trees

which live and die and even in death

keep giving life.