Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Tag: Roots

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

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

moss-laden oaks loom

In 1950 we moved from Southern California to the Deep South. I was 7 ½. This haiku and poem capture my night-time introduction to our new rural community. We’re about 15 miles outside Savannah, Georgia.

Telling the Truth

moss-laden oaks, magenta azaleas

moss-laden oaks loom
magenta azaleas blaze
deep south path through woods 

* * *

Late summer, 1950

It’s past midnight

View original post 167 more words

low afternoon sun

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low afternoon sun

illuminates interior–

hushed benediction

* * *

It’s October 2012.  My husband and I are with a couple of family members.  It’s late afternoon.  We’re walking back from the beach to the parking lot, on a trail through Oswald West State Park.  We pass trees in multiple configurations–from straight and upright to bent or twisted.  Many are covered with moss from thick fog that rolls in from the Pacific Ocean.

We pass several trees with hollowed-out space at the base of the trunk.  Some have twisted roots with pockets of air where the earth has eroded.  The trees reach high toward the sky, seeking light.  They seem to have been around for centuries, adjusting to the dim, seemingly haunted environment.

We’ve walked a good distance from the shoreline, away from rolling surf and the muffled sound of human voices.  Evening approaches.  The air takes on a hushed, cathedral-like quality.   Late afternoon sun filters into usually darkened spaces, and offers a silent benediction.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 January 2015
Photo Credit, DAFraser, October 2012
Oswald West State Park, Oregon

lost treasure

lost treasure
baked in rubbish heap—
gold bounty

* * *

despite past pain
there’s no going back
to settle scores of
faulty judgments cast my way
with clear intent to harm Read the rest of this entry »

God’s Beloved Daughter-Child | Part 1 of 4

It’s the 1990s.  I’m teaching a seminar on spirituality.  At the beginning of the class I hand out to each participant, including me, a blank piece of paper and crayons.  The assignment is simple:  draw and color your childhood image of God.  You have 5 minutes.

I drew and still have my image: Read the rest of this entry »

Boyfriends | Part 2 of 3

As boyfriends go, grades 5 to 7 were my Golden Girl Years.  Artie was it.  I felt a little attraction toward him—especially when he gave me gifts.  But it was miniscule compared to his pursuit of me which included regular pleas for me to ‘help’ him with his homework.

Artie was my only designated boyfriend before I went to college at age 16.  In fact, I arrived at college without having had one single date.  This doesn’t mean I was oblivious to boys.  Here’s my annotated true confessions list of boys Read the rest of this entry »

cascading waves

cascading waves break
in calm rhythmic procession—
fiddler crabs scurry

* * * * *

I loved trips to the beach on Tybee Island Read the rest of this entry »

spring’s torrential rains

spring’s torrential rains
reshape the inner landscape
of my old-soul heart

 Where am I?
What’s going on?
I feel lost on my own home ground
or is it found? Read the rest of this entry »

aging southern belle

IMG_4953

aging southern belle
matriarch of the river
beckons me homeward

* * * * *

Summer 2009
the day of my father’s memorial service
three cars full of family members drive out to the old house
at the end of the road Read the rest of this entry »

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