Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Joy and Gratitude

November 20, 2022

from the podium

Beethoven at Longwood

I seem to have gained a year overnight. Birthday #79! Here’s one of my oldest poems, first posted in March 2014. I didn’t write it for my birthday, but today it’s just right! I pray your day is filled with gratitude, thanksgiving, and hope for our weary world. After all, the wrens and sparrows haven’t stopped singing. So why should we?

from the podium
Beethoven in floral garb
conducts ode to joy

* * *

Things that gladden and soften me,
making me deeply happy and grateful to be alive:

the carolina wren and white-throated sparrow
singing outside my window at dawn

opening notes of orchestral music
warming my heart, releasing tears, relaxing my body

walking in our neighborhood at sunset
as fading light catches the tiptop of trees and steeples

being with our family for sit-down meals
to celebrate birthdays and each other

the sound of waves breaking rhythmically
on sandy beaches and rocky shores

the smell of damp pine needles on the ground
following a rainstorm in the deep South

unexpected moments of deep grief
for Mother and for Sister #3

playing the piano for no one but myself,
weeping for the beauty and comfort of music

the smile in David’s eyes
when I walk into the room

* * *

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 18 March 2014, lightly edited and reposted 20 November 2022
Photo credit: DAFraser
Longwood Gardens Orchid House Display

25 Comments
February 16, 2021

thick roots revisited

P1040831

thick roots tangled knots
barely hanging onto bank
drink deep waters

The last several days have been unpredictable and sometimes discouraging. I keep reminding myself that I’m not in charge of things. The news these days isn’t great. Even so, every day offers an opportunity to look up, look back, look ahead, and take another step. I wrote the following comments in April 2017.  

 ~~~

This haiku was my third post to this blog, published on 3 January 2014. It still haunts me, though not in the same way.

I first saw these roots when D and I were walking with our daughter and her husband through Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, Oregon. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The tangled roots were beautiful and foreboding.

It was a bit like blogging, which I’ve experienced as a formidable venture into unknown territory. Like being born and surviving. Sometimes against all odds.

Writing lets my exposed roots show, often whether I realize they’re showing or not. Writing also stakes my claim to a tiny, precarious plot of land that sits open, vulnerable and visible to passersby.

I’ve traveled a long way since my early posts, yet my roots are still my roots. Bare, and barely hanging onto precious ground that’s stronger, deeper, and more nourishing than I could have imagined.

Deep waters aren’t visible, and they don’t untangle all the knots in my life. Sometimes I wonder whether they’re drying up.

Yet even in dire circumstances, I discover more than enough to get me through each day. Sometimes with tears of sorrow and disbelief. More often with joy and sheer gratitude for the privilege of being human. Able to thrive in the forest next to redwood giants, with miniscule ferns growing around and from my feet.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 April 2017, and 16 February 2021
Photo credit: DAFraser, October 2012, Hoyt Arboretum, Portland, Oregon

8 Comments
August 3, 2018

The air of early August

Sights and sounds of life
Fill this morning’s dense humid air
Gray and white clouds sail across blue sky

Gentle breezes persist
Carrying the voices of children
On a mission in the park
Earnestly they discuss strategies
For climbing the maple tree
Towering above them

A woman heavy with child
Drops off a friend heavy with back pack
And her young toddler eager
To climb steps on the playground gym
Preparing for those Mt. Everest trees
Waiting on the perimeter

All of us serenaded
By a chorus of birds and cicadas
Rising and falling in concert
On the air of early August

Just a few observations from my morning walk. Plus a downloaded photo of a butterfly bush plus butterfly. I walk by butterfly bushes nearly every day. Lots of lovely blossoms, but not many butterflies yet.

Being a sometimes teary sort, I’ll admit to getting the sniffles when I saw children playing in the park. A reminder of how quickly life comes and goes, taking us with it.

I don’t know if there’s a secret to living with joy and gratitude. I am, however, certain butterflies and children can show me the way when I’m willing to have a childlike heart. Which is all I’m asked to have in the presence of the One who knows me best.

Elouise♥

©Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 August 2018
Photo found at almanac.com

7 Comments
April 26, 2017

thick roots revisited

P1040831

thick roots tangled knots
barely hanging onto bank
drink deep waters

This haiku was my third post to this blog, published on 3 January 2014. It still haunts me, though not in the same way.

I first saw these roots when D and I were walking with our daughter and her husband through Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, Oregon. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The tangled roots were beautiful and foreboding.

A bit like blogging, which I’ve experienced as a formidable venture into unknown territory. Like being born and surviving. Sometimes against all odds.

Writing lets my exposed roots show, often whether I realize they’re showing or not. Writing also stakes my claim to a tiny, precarious plot of land that sits open, vulnerable and visible to passersby.

I’ve traveled a long way since my early posts, yet my roots are still my roots. Bare, and barely hanging onto precious ground that’s stronger, deeper, and more nourishing than I could have imagined.

Deep waters aren’t visible, and they don’t untangle all the knots in my life. Sometimes I wonder whether they’re drying up.

Yet even in dire circumstances, I discover more than enough to get me through each day. Sometimes with tears of sorrow and disbelief. More often with joy and sheer gratitude for the privilege of being human. Able to thrive in the forest next to redwood giants, with miniscule ferns growing around and from my feet.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 April 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, October 2012, Hoyt Arboretum, Portland, Oregon
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Roots

9 Comments
February 15, 2016

Not Smoke and Mirrors

P1040848

9:05am, Monday. I wrote this immediately following breakfast today. Trying to capture how I felt and then let my mind and heart go wherever I needed to go. Read the rest of this entry »

14 Comments
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