Posts tagged endurance

Beebeesworld-such as it is.

Has the sun risen, once more amidst the constant storms, clouds, ominous warnings that life will not be easy or fair? Or is this moment just another tiny window, opened only for a microsecond to make me think that for even a moment my life will be like other people’s seem to be-like life should be? I believed-was taught to believe. Afraid not to believe that hard work brings about success more often than failure. Earnest prayers prayed for years and promises I have kept for years are not trashed along with my life and so much of what I have worked for.  For once, have I done something small that will not crash and burn before it even gets off the ground?  Only time will ‘. and I am deeply afraid of the answer, considering the way I have been treated in the past.

Nothing can fix the wrongs I have endure, the losses I have suffered, the pain that is my life, yet, still, I cling to the imagination that somehow, things will at least work better from now on.  That at least my efforts will be acknowledged.  That simply waking up will bring another crisis or closing my eyes in hope of sleep will not bring another nightmare, leaving me waiting for its interpretation and ultimate reality?

I wait, anxiously, fearfully to see, knowing that the scars will still be there, the pain simply part o who I am and must always e. I envy those whose trivial complaints ruin their lives, yet pity them for their ignorance of what life could be.  Beebeesworld, such as it is, continues for now, like a child, still hoping for fairness, honestly a damn break. To be continued-I hope.

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The Nostalgia of Wood

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Wood-the forts we made, with dad’s help among pines and poplars, the smoke arising from a campfire in autumn, holding a sleepy child in front of a fireplace, a tree in the forest, charred, but still alive.

A fallen tree makes me wonder how large the tree was when I was born,  if my grandpa climbed it, maybe planted it.  When I see wood, I realize that it may have been here before me and may be here long after me. In all of its’ fragility, wood seems to speak of endurance.  The lines within a log upon the ground, they speak of drought, or rainy years, they carry the voice of the creatures who lived when each log was a tree.

I see “my” crows standing in a snag above my house, waiting for me to put out scraps and then calling to their comrades. I see my grandpa hauling in logs for grandma’s woodstove. I stack railway ties to make a wall for my garden. I inhale the fragrance of new wood in a young house, waiting patiently for memories yet to come.

Wood is a diary, an album of our being. I touch it gently, reminded of all the meanings it holds.

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