“Look at the sky / It’s the colour of love…” ~Sade
Setting in firecracker fashion, she bursts wide. Orange glow burns—life is her philosophy since time first wandered over desert seas like an eagle soars looking for prey. Sun’s watchful eye sees New Year’s Joy for some. Heartache for others. Hear the saxophone blues play one note at a time.
I marvel at these old cottonwoods
Some with gold and brown leaves
Few still with green
Age has only made this Bosque
More engrossed, tangled, wise
Small shoots regrow, becoming
Reaching for bird and sun
I cannot filter the trees into perfection
I can only wonder at their time in history
The chipmunks and squirrels who have
Made their home in the hollows
Of these old tree bones
Worn with time
My feet walk the path unseen
Comforted by this space in nature
This Bosque along the timeless Rio Grande
I stop to feel the grooves of a downed tree
I too am as worn
An age spot on my right cheek
Gray hairs have rooted
I am fortunate to have reached this age
Reaching for bird and sun
Photo by my daughter, M.J.M. | “Becoming” | Taken in the Bosque
Stillness on this earth as it moves around the sun.
Wind in my hair.
Stealing breath and time.
There are more fish than birds,
more trees than stars,
more tears than laughter,
more hope than despair.
Did you know: “It may surprise you, but there are more trees on Earth than there are stars in the Milky Way. According to a study published in Nature there are about 3 trillion trees on our planet. This far outpaces the “measly” 100-400 billion stars estimated to exist in the Milky Way.”
Miraculous colors crashed into the horizon. Fire ablazed and the sun burned. The air was silent. It’s stillness perfectly held my heartbeat between God’s hands.
Until next time.
I have been inspired by the sunsets lately and inspired to write tiny odes to each.
Remembering 9.11, then on Monday, 9.12.2022, I learned of a colleague’s sudden death. On 9.13.2022, it was my mom’s one year anniversary of her death from a battle with breast cancer. I also learned my cousin is battling cancer this week.
Today, I wonder why I am so tired. Grief is exhausting.
The beauty of a sunset is that it doesn’t wait for you. If you wait a minute too long— poof, gone. Then you have to hope for another chance, another day. So don’t delay. Take the time now. Tomorrow isn’t promised.
“I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship.” ~Louisa May Alcott
The fatigue is real.
like a ship sinking
or falling red wood.
My eyelids must close.
Even as I write.
I have to stop.
Place my pen down.
On the pillow
my head caves.
My body curves
into a fetal position.
Meds to high.
Meds to low.
has a mind of her own.
Sadly, they come in pairs.
With marching orders:
“Take her down.”
“Be invisible so others don’t know.”
Napping is for babies.
But I am a mother of a 22 year old,
A nine year old. Nap I must.
Why does my body betray?
I sit so quiet. Eyes closed.
Meditate like still clouds in the sky.
I am the storm.
Wounded, but not defeated.
Fighting for a quality of life
that is more than
one foot in the grave.
That isn’t lead by anxiety & depression.
It is always exhausting—
to the point I am just alone.
No one wants to be around that doom.
It’s okay! Look away.
Turn the page. Walk away.
like desert dust
after a monsoon.
I am not offended.
I don’t even want
to do anything anyway.
I may cancel our planned coffee date.
I may call to just cry.
There is nothing you can do,
but I sure appreciate
just knowing you care.
>Did you know:
“Nearly 4% of the world’s population is affected by one of more than 80 different autoimmune diseases, the most common of which include type 1 diabetes, multiple sclerosis, rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, Crohn’s disease, psoriasis and scleroderma.
National Institutes for Health (NIH) estimates that they collectively affect between 5% and 8% percent of the U.S. population. For unknown reasons, the prevalence of autoimmune diseases is increasing.”
I am personally still learning about my disease. It took 14 years to finally get diagnosed with Hashimoto just 12 weeks ago. It is suspect that I have another autoimmune disease and will find out this week after other blood work.
I am sharing my story because people with invisible diseases or disorders often suffer alone. It’s sad and horrible. It is also difficult to get out and be around people. I also have severe anxiety and depression (depression comes and goes, maybe affected by Hashimoto and my mother’s death). Newly diagnosed with PTSD. Suffering from GI issues, it is challenging to find health. I have stayed silent for the most part, minue close friends and family. Sometimes it feels like just complaints, and humans don’t want to listen to complaints, especially without hope.
Without a cape, he flies. Boundless love, holding my heart in his eyes. He waits for my cue. And he walks beside, or follows with humbleness. A gentle nudge or hug— exactly what I need. While he breathes, I’ll never be alone. My German Shepherd Dog, never one more brave. While I sleep, he guards. Loving and loyal, his lifelong love selflessly gifted to me.
Follow my service dog in training, Beowulf, on Instagram: @be_like_wulf_gsd.
“We are learning that before the body can become a temple, it first must become our home.” ― Lucy H. Pearce, Medicine Woman: Reclaiming the Soul of Healing
The field is black
The clouds are white
The tunnel narrows
Like a river
And I move
And there are no sounds
Other than footsteps
It is as if the world is empty
And death is scary
Maybe life didn’t frighten Maya Angelou—
But here I am at a crossroad again
What do I know?
What advice do I have?
Wisdom fades with memory
Or brain fog
My autoimmune disease
Hashimoto is its name
It has turned my world upside down
It starts with my thyroid–the mother of my house
This disease kills my hormones
Boosters my anxiety until it is a Jedi
Until I am bedridden with a fatigue
Unexplainable to anyone not fighting for their very life
It is death with eyes open and shallow breaths
It has been too long since the green fields of joy
Touched my toes
I root and dig for bone, shell,
I find potatoes and worms.
The peppermint is sprouting.
Its green, creeping stolons
are stark against desert dirt.
My dogs dig.
They find little treasures.
A bird’s beak,
a steak bone.
It’s like a witches brew
instead of a spring garden.
Still, I dig
allowing the cool earth
to slip like blood
between my fingers.
The spring air is unseasonably warm
and hope travels
as songbirds whistle,
as ants wonder in and around the mint.