outside my window air hangs heavy
yesterday’s rain now stale
drops in slow motion from the gutter
exposed trees stand breathless
caught in damp morning heat
I hear the rhythmic beat
of tires coming and going
on the road beside our house
August is the saddest month
weary of relentless summer
it languishes—
counting the days
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 August 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Symphony
The way ahead runs like a ribbon
through autumn hills
draped in early morning mist.
Foreground reality sturdy
and reassuring frames
this snapshot of life–
an adventure into unknown territory.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 2 August 2017
Photo taken by DAFraser, Autumn 2015
Driving through Cairngorms National Park, Scotland
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Foggy
This past Sunday D and I visited Chanticleer. It’s only a 20 minute drive from our house. You can walk through the entire garden, with a few off-path adventures, in a couple of hours. Alternatively, you can spend the day exploring tempting side paths. Bring your picnic lunch and eat at one of the picnic tables, or on your own blanket spread anywhere you like on the grass. Or you could sit in a lawn chair and read a book all afternoon.
On Sunday it was a bit crowded, but not too much for a leisurely stroll punctuated with stops for photo ops. D took the photo at the top on Mother’s Day in May 2015. It’s one of my favorites. Later this week I’ll post a photo review of Sunday’s visit.
During the last few weeks I’ve begun reviewing all my Haiku/Poetry posts, selecting some for possible publication in an ebook. The poem below is among them, inspired by the photo at the top.
the garden of my heart
sits quietly waiting
chairs placed side by side
beam with glowing luster
tadpoles swim
mosquitoes buzz
flowers dip and sway,
music from a springtime breeze
invites me out to play
lily pads provoke a game
of hopscotch cricket-style
dragon-flies flit overhead
and clap their wings for joy
cool water laps around the reeds
a gentle under-tone
announcing your arrival soon
to be with me
alone
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 16 June 2015
Photo found at Chanticleer Garden Guide
Chanticleer Pond Garden
Time to get back to sorting through those lovely poems. Surprisingly, I’m feeling more energized about this project than I anticipated. Thanks for all the likes and comments you left in the past, especially on my haiku/poetry posts. It’s heartwarming to see and read them again! Even inspirational.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 August 2017
hanging on for dear life
gnarled roots exposed
soil sifts away with
each new flash flood
no rock bottom in sight
turbulence guaranteed
in more than the air
reeking with harbingers
of hard times ahead
soil ill-prepared
for these upheavals
brittle dry sinews of our
vulnerability on display
slow motion relentless
yesterday disappearing
before our eyes can adjust
in this foreboding present
Every day my eyes are pulled to headlines and news articles that sometimes offer more than they can deliver. Instead, they leave me without comfort or enlightenment. Sometimes they destroy any iota of clarity I thought I’d achieved. It isn’t laughable; it’s tragic. Not because of the news industry, but because of what passes these days as news.
So here’s the news I’m counting on these days–good for me, good for you and good for the animals and mother earth!
Your love, Lord, reaches to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the skies.
Your righteousness is like the highest mountains,
Your justice like the great deep.
You, Lord, preserve both people and animals.
How priceless is your unfailing love, O God!
People take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
They feast on the abundance of your house;
You give them drink from your river of delights.
For with you is the fountain of life;
In your light we see light.
Psalm 36: 5-9 (New International Version)
Psalm 36 was written during politically troubled times filled with those who flattered themselves “too much to detect or hate their sin.” So-called leaders were failing to “act wisely or do good” and did not reject what was wrong.
The only antidote to evil and falsehood is truth. Speaking it, yes. Even more potent, living it. Daring to live each day in the light of our Maker—the only light in which we see light, whether we live and whether we die. The unseen source and goal of our dear lives.
Praying this day will bring moments of deep calm and clarity.
Elouise ♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 July 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, October 2012, Hoyt Arboretum, Portland, Oregon
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Shallow
Smell of fear
Binds her tongue
Without
And within
Residue
Of storms
Long past
Hovering
Just beyond
Eyesight
Deep within
Her psyche
Spawning fear
Of her powerful
Voice locked
In neutral
Going nowhere
I always die a little when I speak in public. It doesn’t matter how confident or calm I sound on the outside. I shake on the inside, sometimes trembling physically when I’m finished. If fear were a fragrance, I would reek of it.
I’ve always chalked this up to being an introvert with thin skin. Afraid of what people will think of me and my ideas. Especially when I’m speaking in a religious setting.
Little wonder. My thinking and writing about God, the world and Christian faith aren’t always considered acceptable, much less mainstream by either more conservative or more liberal listeners.
Nonetheless, I think this fear runs deeper.
This weekend I had a small dialogue with myself about my voice. Especially my writing voice. I love it. Often, looking back at old posts, I’m moved to tears.
Nonetheless, I’ve been dragging my feet on the idea I floated well over a month ago. Dragging my feet while pretending to move ahead. Hoping to generate enough energy to begin working on an e-book of selected postings.
This past weekend, I hit pay dirt. Here’s what I wrote in my journal on Friday and Saturday evenings, lightly edited for clarity.
Friday evening, after lots of agonized words about getting nowhere.
Right now this is an undocumented project. Notes, but no measurable, incremental steps recorded….I say I don’t have to do this, yet I want to do it! What’s holding me back? I want to know. I feel a little stuck and frightened. Of what? I don’t know. Am I afraid of my own voice?
Then Saturday evening:
Yes! I’m stuck and I’m frightened of my own voice…Today I read through about 15 of my most liked poems and chose one to reblog—the Amy post about being weary of my life—her lament that’s so like mine. “You are about my bed.” Where I’m lying—stuck and frightened of my own voice.
I accept this truth and want to welcome it as a stranger…rather than denying its existence, and thus denying the dormant power of my voice….Was this one reason my father tried to beat my voice out of me??? Did he see something I couldn’t see? Something that frightened or threatened him and his voice? “You are about my bed.”
And Sunday evening:
Yes! I have a powerful voice, and have had all my life.
I’m sure I’ll learn more along the way. But this is where I find myself today, Monday.
Thanks for listening and reading!
Elouise ♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 24 July 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompts: Fragrance; Dormant
In the blink of an eye
Memories take me back
Surrounded by music
I want to stay here forever
Feeling the harmonies
The ebb and flow of
Joyful voices surrounding me
Filled with hope for tomorrow
Lost in a magic sliver of time
When all was right with the world
We were ambassadors
On a mission
Ready to die if needs be
My heart aches for what we lost
On our way from there to here
So many hidden wounds and
Untold secrets and yet
One concert after another
We entered gladly
Into His gates with thanksgiving
And into His courts with praise
Eager and ready for whatever
Tomorrow might bring
This photo was taken in 1962-63. It’s the Ambassador Choir—the concert choir of Columbia Bible College in Columbia, South Carolina (now Columbia International University).
It was D’s senior year, my junior year. He was president of the choir; I served as accompanist to the choir. Mainly piano, and a little organ. D is on the third row from the top, 2nd from the left. I’m on the same row, 3rd from the right (with glasses).
We’re in the college auditorium, in front of the college motto and a huge globe of the world. Many students studied at CBC/CIU because they wanted to be missionaries. Among them were bi-lingual ‘missionary kids’ who came from all over the world.
Bill Supplee, our beloved choir and music director, was a stickler for getting things right. In the photo we’re grouped according to gender and height. However, each concert required a new lineup created by Mr. Supplee. We stood in groups of eight (eight part harmony for many songs), never next to anyone singing our part.
Getting it right meant on pitch, from memory, with no sliding notes or coming in early or hanging on late. Precision mattered. Articulation was paramount. Drawing attention to oneself by swaying or making head motions was absolutely forbidden.
This wasn’t about us, it was about the Gospel. Always presented in a carefully crafted sequence of music. The choir processed from center and side aisles onto the risers. Unison at first, breaking into eight-part harmony at the end. All to invite the congregation into the Lord’s gates with thanksgiving.
Each concert ended with a brief challenge to consider what God might want you to do in response, followed by a glorious recessional. The message was clear, and always well received.
Not clear, however, was how many of us carried hidden, unresolved pain from our childhoods as we processed down the aisles. Today I’m aware of stories I didn’t know then, and have shared my own. Many of our friends are already gone.
Still, I’m no cynic. I value the privilege of having been part of this spirited endeavor. It gave me the privilege of being regularly surrounded and held by music that kept my soul and my spirit alive. And, along the way, gave me the gift of knowing and falling in love with D.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 22 July 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Gate
I want to be in tune with You –
Listening to my heart sing
Surrounded by music
Maybe You could arrange for me to live in nonstop song
At home in my skin, content, grateful and unafraid
Connected with those I love or haven’t yet learned to love
Would You kindly spare a few moments
to sing me back together?
I’d rather not have another operation.
***
A few evenings ago I was listening to choral music, singing along from time to time. A bit weepy though happy. Grateful for small gifts during the day.
It dawned on me that I’m most content, most at peace when I’m surrounded by music. Especially, but not only, grand hymns old and new.
So I dreamed a bit. What would it be like to live in nonstop song? And might my Creator be willing to oblige me? Without ungodly pain?
Coming from a grownup, the ungodly pain part seemed a fair request. After all, I don’t have as much time for fancy procedures as I used to have. Besides, who wouldn’t love to be sung back together?
Hoping your day/evening is filled with music that softens your heart and sings you back together.
Elouise ♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 July 2017
rising and falling
earth-born cicada concert
shrieks through summer air
***
Do you live on the East Coast of the USA? This year’s crop of cicadas is huge. Here’s a great article that will tell you how many cicadas per square mile (sit down!), plus other fascinating cicada facts.
Or maybe you’d just like to hear one of these little buggers in solo concert (solo? a rarity in my experience). Check out this video:
All I wanted was a quiet morning walk. Not only were the cicadas ramping up into full morning concert, the tree experts were boring and grinding the remains of a large expired shade tree deeply rooted in soil next to the grade school. No complaints, though, since I already knew the prompt for the day, and enjoyed the walk.
Hoping your day brings good surprises along with whatever else comes along.
Elouise ♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 19 July 2017
Image found at livescience.com; video found on YouTube
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Soil
It’s early Friday morning. Rain arrived
late yesterday evening breaking a short
oppressive heat wave. I have one hour
for a walk outside before the rain returns.
Morning smoothie safely tucked away,
I put on my rain gear and open the back door.
The rush of dense humid air assaults my lungs,
my face, and any part of my skin not covered.
It’s mid-summer. No rush of passing traffic
greets me as I turn left from our driveway.
No sidewalk here. Just a curb
and the sound of occasional tires
squishing over dark, damp pavement.
Quickly I turn left down a narrow side street
lined with neighborhood houses,
away from the flow of traffic to and from
wherever people go at this time of day
in midsummer.
I hear the sound of my shoes on wet pavement,
a few muffled voices inside a house or two,
and birdsong filling the air. Invisible waves of
of warm damp air magnify the chorus of bird calls
surrounding me from branches and treetops.
At the end of this short street I turn left
again headed toward more open spaces.
I’m now on a sidewalk, next to the grammar
school playing field on my right, and a church yard
just beyond. A white spire and white headstones
gleam beneath towering trees.
Turning right, between the school yard and
the church yard, I walk beneath trees still
filled with birdsong. Leftover rain and dew drops
fall rhythmically hitting damp ground
and empty parking spaces behind the school.
Circling around the school, toward a public park,
I start up the hill through another deserted parking lot.
My pace slows a bit. I notice
the dying hemlock now marked
with a large white X signaling the end
of its long fight against invasive insects.
Will it receive a proper burial?
A gleaming white headstone?
I circle another tree at the top of the driveway
then turn down a small path through
the park, back toward the school.
Tiny drops of water glitter on tips
of fir needles and low-hanging tree leaves,
brushing my face with cool water.
I turn left to walk behind the school, past
the athletic field on my way home. In the distance
I see the churchyard with its lush green trees.
The weeping beech towers next to rows
of white headstones rooted in earth,
soaking in summer’s gift of life-giving rain.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 14 July 2017
Image found at pinterest.com
Telling the Truth 