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Green Grass and Heather

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Green Grass and Heather…

It is morning and I find myself facing the eastern sky to bless the new day; I watch in awe as the coolness of the night melds with the golden rays of the sun.  As if a stranger to my own body, I run down a furrowed road, wind caressing my face, I am at peace living in the moment in the right place.  I leave the road to follow a path into unfamiliar woods; I stare into the darkness beyond the trees. 

 

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I walked out of the darkness into a meadow, a sea of green grass and heather spread before me like purple froth upon a stormy sea; I began to run wildly at the anticipation of being free. As I reach the foot of a mountain my life, seem so very clear, I knew that freedom was very near.   At the summit, I leaned over the rocky ledge, suddenly I begin to fall; will I die when I hit the bottom I thought.   I plunge toward the valley below jolted to consciousness by moans that fill the void where I lay; I opened my eyes dawn was outside my window, and I realized that I had been dreaming; it was another new day.

 

©2017.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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My Shitty First Draft…

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How did I get where I am today?  The question I wrestle with is how I am going to get through this day, tomorrow and the next day.  I did not make any New Year resolutions; I do not believe in them, it only lays the groundwork for failure, my failure.

Every day I find myself at a place where I must decide what path to follow; and yes, I sometime feel lost.  I question myself, do I work on my writing fully of my capability; or I procrastinate.  Yes I do!  I get out of bed, walk the dog, have breakfast and sit in front of a blank or somewhat filled screen.  It is then that I go back to the kitchen and get a cup of coffee, check email, anything.  I check some already written sentences.  I now look in the freezer to decide what I will prepare for tonight’s dinner.  Yes, you get the picture, I do finally sit down and write; I try to bring out of myself what is needed to continue my project.

I am certain others who like me write, fall into that mind set of can I really write, can I finish this project.  Procrastination fractures our senses and stops creativity, learning and growing in our craft.  I find myself much like the author Anne Lamott wrote in her book “Bird by Bird”, I am deep into the center of my “SHITTY FIRST DRAFT”.  If you have not read this Anne Lamott book, do so; I keep it on my writing table and reread often, it encourages me to go on. 

So, here I am on January 11, 2017 working on my shitty first draft of “Flying with Broken Wings” and finding many other things to keep me from it.  I am into the first 10 days of this New Year.  Today, my goal until finished is to put in a minimum of 6 hours in writing, in 2-hour intervals with meals and walking between, and any other matters to take care of for the day.  This is my plan…

Good luck to all of you and welcome to the New Year and success in all you do; its day 11 let’s get going.

eajm

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Back from my road trip…

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Back from my road trip…

I needed to get away; from where I live, away from the multitude of “retired” people who live around me, and the stress they put upon their lives and try to push into mine.  I needed to drive, listen to music, spend all day smiling without my heart feeling infringed upon or standing still.  I wanted to be happy and carefree as I drove away from Wisconsin.

The road stretched forever over the flatlands of Illinois.  After driving all day it was time to stop, nightfall was quickly approaching and I was still in Illinois.  The small towns scattered along the way some bustling, others stood like ghosts from yesteryear.  A hot tub and a swim took care of the stiffness and people watching built new characters in my mind.  I had no problem with sleep as I prepared for the rest of my drive through tall, narrow Illinois.

Waking to a swim and breakfast of fruit  I stared out the window at wind and rain; ahead lay an endless road and pounding windshield wipers, then suddenly the sun came through the clouds and I was in Kentucky.   For a while, my thoughts reflected on my life and what route it might be taking me; I recharted my destiny and smiled with the thought of following my own dreams.  The rolling hills of Kentucky and Tennessee open up my mind to my past and future.

It seems as if I have been lost my whole life within a world that I did not plan for myself and I remembered the old cliché, is this all there is?  My dreams had slept for years waiting to be awakened as I collected life’s baggage and continue to question life.  At times the question haunts me still, Is this all there is?

I stopped in Alabama to visit family, eat familiar foods, swim in blue waters and get back in touch with my roots; the ones that I ran from years ago.  Leaving to return home, I circled back into the hills of Tennessee, lingered among the folks there and took in the smells and sights of the South.  I allowed myself to enjoy the beauty of Kentucky and grand horses that grazed upon blue grasses.  I somehow glided through Illinois without noticing the flatness; it was no longer boring to me.

When I reached the sign that read, Wisconsin, I knew that I was home; I love the South, but I had been gone too long.  Past that Wisconsin sign the grass looked greener, the air fresher and I smiled.  It took two weeks and over two-thousand miles for me to realize that I did not need a road trip to find peace and happiness, it was around me; it was the place that I had lived for years and had not really called home.  Those of my age living in the village that I had considered “God’s Waiting Room” would soon turn into characters in yet another story and their aging lives would no longer impact mine, as age did not fit into my plans.  I love my home, my little village; and I could already smell the wonderful scents of home baked bread coming from Saturday’s farmers market, taste the season’s vegetables.

As I pulled into my garage, I had but one thought…now it is time to get back to my dreams, the dreams that were mine.   eajm
 

 

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Fading Rose

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A familiar road, no longer gravel;

thirty years it was time to make this

trip; days grow shorter and the years

pursue one another with a fierceness

like no other time in my life.

The church is weather worn as are

many of the headstones with crumbling

edges; the rows are wider and longer

with newer ones in at the end of a narrow

road.

Life has grown poignant, stronger, tears and

laughter are measured by the emotions of the

day; friends and love ones are gone, the heart

has more understanding and sorrow slowly slips

away.

I loved once, he died before I myself was free,

like the last rose of summer, faded, gone; when

one is old and gray the once soft look now deep

shadows, thoughts turn inward.

It is a time to be old and a time to say goodbye,

I gaze across the stone barricades all inscribed

with names; I wonder why have I been left behind

so long while their souls are free.

©2015.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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6 Comments

Posted by on July 16, 2015 in Poetry

 

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