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COVID-19
We are all in this together! Be calm. Be patient. Be kind. Be thankful. Be well. Resilience Sitting at my keyboard on another virus-ridden day… Wondering if spring will ever arrive in this winter-beleaguered place I call home… Spiraling into pandemic paranoia… into worry for others… into anger at others… into despair for us all. |
A flash of red outside my window...
and there he is! Harbinger of spring! Bringer of colour… of beauty… of hope. Winged resilience! My courageous Cardinal has returned! Life goes on… and so shall we! |
Photo: Sharon Jackson
Monarch Moments
Haiku
Monarchs ride the wind
as sunbeams watch and envy
their erratic dance
Wind Dancers
Monarchs frolic on the wind
before their southward journey
indulging in late-summer flings
Flashes of flaming coal, they fly
caressed by sunbeams yearning
to join in their flirtatious dances
Two brush by my wind-kissed face
as if to explore mysterious things
revealed within our mutual glances
With butterfly bush and milkweed
I’ll entice these whimsy-riders
to visit me in future springs . . .
. . . when perhaps my backyard sunbeams
will content themselves by learning
to balance on butterfly wings
S
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved
Photo: Alexander Brunner
Balancing Act
(A Postcard Story)
“They each have their centre of gravity,” he says. “You just have to find the point of balance.” He’s positioning stone on stone, patiently seeking the miraculous bond that will unite them in perfect equilibrium. After a second or an eternity, he surrenders his hold, and the two are transformed into one.
I pass this place time and again, but on this singular summer-of-discovery evening, I am suddenly captivated by a sand-beach-gallery of stones balanced on stones. Impossible, I think. But there they stand, defiant proof of possibilities.
They become shape-shifters, as the August sunset begins its fleeting dance across their stoic faces. I see them nodding to each other in that soft, sweet shadow-play, sharing some long-forgotten, silent language ― an ancient and dormant brotherhood brought to tentative awakening by this present-day balance master.
He comes here most days, a pilgrim harvesting beach stones to conduct this sacred magic, reverently disassembling them at twilight. “Unattended, they might fall on the children,” he says. And, reluctant though I am to watch these acquiescent demigods slip back to obscurity at his direction, I understand this stone worshipper will return here on many tomorrows, to resurrect each to its point of balance.
I make an offering, a token of thanks for this epiphany ― for my awakening. I will find my point of balance, moment by moment. I will discover my centre of gravity day by day. And I will embrace life’s balancing act for all of my tomorrows.
S
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved
Image: © 2011 Alexander Brunner, East Eats West, www.easteatswest.com
Photo: Mike Oxley
Cracking Ice
(A Postcard Story)
It turned out to be a blessing that, yet again, he changed his mind about walking with her along the bay. Had he joined her on that falsely temperate day, doubtless she’d have focussed eyes and ears on him alone... hoping to achieve just one unwavering note of harmony in their lately-dissonant duet. And she would have missed the more compelling melody.
But happily, on this solitary stroll, her unblinkered eyes alighted on a lone drake swimming by. And, stopping for an instant to envy his resistance to the water’s chill, her ears embraced the pitch and cadence of the waves, and she heard... ice chimes in a faux-melt on the frigid shore.
The ice is singing, she thought, and the music is welcoming and warm. Oh to dance in that melodious ebb and flow...
But the water was winter-grey and February cold. And the drake swam through those sonic fragments indifferent to their tune.
This is not a faithful melting, she decided. It is too soon for the tenderness of spring. It is too soon for a love song to begin...
Yet... as he passed her, she could have sworn she saw... a glimmer of warmth in the drake’s impassive gaze... and her heart, still waiting for a true and lasting thaw, felt the faintest resonance of ice cracking.
S
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved
Photo © 2011 Mike Oxley, www.redbubble.com/people/mikeoxley
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved
Photo © 2011 Mike Oxley, www.redbubble.com/people/mikeoxley
Photo: Sharon Jackson
Cinnamon Stars
(A Children's Story for Adults)
Tena stood outside her parents’ bedroom door. She didn’t know if she was glad not to hear the muffled sobs anymore, or if the silence was scarier.
“I wish Daddy was here,” she whispered.
She wanted to knock on the door. She wanted to open it and see Mama. But she wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. So she went to ask Rige and Cass. Maybe they would know. She found them in the kitchen.
“Pizza or K.D.?” Rige was asking Cass, “Mom’s in bed again.”
Tena watched for that look to pass between her brother and sister, the look she’d seen so many times in the months since her last birthday, when all her friends came, and Mama made purple-passion punch and a seafoam-frosted spice cake and sandwiches cut into star shapes like she always did with cinnamon toast for Sunday breakfasts.
Tena loved Sunday morning cinnamon stars with tea that Mama made sweet and milky, ′specially for her.
Nana and Auntie Ann were at her birthday party, too, and they looked that look at each other when Mama said Daddy wasn’t coming to the party.
Mama still cooked a lot then, and the food was sooo good, ′specially the cinnamon stars. But then the food started to not taste so good, and Mama started not even getting up for Sunday breakfasts.
And then Daddy didn’t come home ever, and Mama sometimes dropped pans and burned things, and then cried and cried until her eyes were red and swelly – not just weepy like when she watched chick flicks with Cass.
Tena liked watching chick flicks with Mama, too. She felt more grown up watching them instead of her kid flicks. And she liked talking to Mama about grown-up things like astron oh mee.
She knew Mama had chosen star names for Rige and Cass, ′cause Mama loved stars. And star names were mostly Greek, like Thee ah‘s family next door. Tena also knew that Thee ah meant Auntie, like in Auntie Ann.
Thee ah had a star name, too. It was Andro ma kee, who was a princess and had a con stell ay shun and a gal ak see named after her. Rige was named for a star called Ri gel, and Cass, whose big name was Cass ee oh pee ah, was a con stell a shun, but not a gal ak see. Tena was pretty sure she’d got that right, ′specially the part about their names being Greek.
“Is your name Greek, too?” she had once asked her mother.
“Well, hunneybun, Thea sort of adopted me when we moved here, but I’m a WASP and so is my name.”
“And WASPs so often sting,” her daddy had said.
“Only when provoked,” Mama had snapped. Tena had wanted to ask why her mother was named for a stinging bug and what pro voked meant, but that look between her mother and father stopped her.
“What star am I?” she’d asked Mama later.
“You’re not a star, honneybun, but you are a miracle. You were so teeny when you were born, it scared us, but you just hung in there, so we called you Tenacity, because tenacity means never giving up. You were our tenacious baby girl.”
Tena thought she understood about her ten ay shus name, but secretly wished she had a star name, instead.
She also wished Mama would still talk to her about things, and wasn’t so sleepy and sad all the time. But at least she wasn’t so mad lately, and she and Rige didn’t fight so much.
Tena remembered the worst fight. She’d come into the kitchen and Rige was crying and Mama was hugging him and crying, too.
“Oh, Rigel,” Mama was saying, “I didn’t mean that, honey. You are NOT to blame. This is between your father and me. But sometimes it’s just all too much for me and I get so angry...”
Tena never heard Cass and Mama fight, but she did hear Cass crying sometimes, and Mama still cried, too, when she thought she was alone.
Now Mama was always alone, ′cause she spent so much time in bed.
“I’ll check the fridge. You check the cabinet.” Cass’ voice brought Tena back to the present. “We need to see how much she’s had.”
“What we need to see is that intervention Nana is pushing for,” muttered Rige.
“What’s a inter ven shun? asked Tena.
Her sister and brother jumped as she spoke. Sometimes, they seemed to forget she was even around lately.
“It’s when someone qualified is finally brought in to help,” snapped her brother, ignoring Cass’ warning look. “Don’t get wigged out again, Cass. We both know she needs help.”
Tena left the room, knowing her brother and sister were going to fight again. They’d been fighting a lot lately, and not just about what time Cass should be home and why Rige should get to say when she should be home, anyway. Lately they fought most about that inter ven shun word.
That night, Tena was still thinking about Mama needing help. Then she had an idea. It was cinnamon stars! Mama said she loved Sunday morning cinnamon stars, and tomorrow was going to be Sunday. Maybe that could be a inter ven shun.
Tena checked to see if they had bread, and if there was still cinnamon sugar in the shaker jar with the pretty green lid. Then she checked for butter and tea and milk, and was glad Rige and Cass were taking care of the things Mama used to. They might boss her around a lot, even when she told them, “You are not the boss of me,” but it was good they were getting food and stuff, so she supposed she could put up with the bossing until she did her inter ven shun with Mama.
In the morning, she got up really early and crept to the kitchen. She got out all her greed ee ants, like she’d seen Mama do, and filled the kettle from the special filter tap her daddy had put in the sink last year. She didn’t stop to wonder when she’d see her daddy again. Right now, she needed to just think about Mama.
She toasted and buttered the bread and sprinkled the cinnamon sugar all over it while it was still warm and gooey, and put Mama’s big star cookie cutter in the centre of each piece and pressed really, really hard to make the star shapes come out. She saved the outside pieces, like Mama always did. Tena didn’t think they tasted as yummy as the stars, but Rige and Cass always gobbled them up.
She was about to pour the boiling water into the teapot when Mama appeared at the doorway.
“Tena! What are you doing?! You know you’re not supposed to use the kettle alone!”
Tena jolted and knocked the teapot to the floor, where it cracked into pieces.
“I was just making a inter ven shun for you, Mama, like Rige says Nana thinks you need,” she wailed. “I wanted to give you cinnamon stars to make you happy again. I didn’t mean to break the teapot. Now you’re going to be even sadder and it’s all my fault.”
When Cass and Rigel rushed into the kitchen, Tena tried to explain about her inter ven shun, but that look passed between them and then between them and Mama. Mama walked to the fridge and took out the wine bottle she always kept in the door, and walked to the cabinet where she and daddy kept other bottles. And she started to cry and cry and cry.
“Oh Mom,” began Rige, as Cass looked on helplessly. “We just don’t know what to do anymore...”
“Oh my babies,” sobbed Mama.
And then she grabbed Nige and Cass and hugged and hugged them, which she hadn’t done in a long time. Tena wondered if this was how a inter ven shun was supposed to work, or if she’d somehow done it all wrong.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Mama hugged her, too, and then looked at the cinnamon stars on the counter.
“Oh, my baby girl, you really are a miracle,” she sniffed. “Let’s eat these and then make more until we can’t eat another bite. Rige... Cass... I’m so sorry. And I’ll be okay, I promise you.... Tena... you choose the first star, because that’s what you are... our shiny, wonderful, guiding star!”
Rige and Cass were hugging each other and crying, which was so weird, ′cause Tena had never seen them act that way together – not ever. But she was pretty sure her inter ven shun was working after all, ′specially if they all pretended later that Rige and Cass hadn’t actually hugged and cried and stuff.
And, as Mama started making more cinnamon stars, Tena thought, I don’t need a star name. I’m already Mama’s ten ay shus star!
S
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved
(A Children's Story for Adults)
Tena stood outside her parents’ bedroom door. She didn’t know if she was glad not to hear the muffled sobs anymore, or if the silence was scarier.
“I wish Daddy was here,” she whispered.
She wanted to knock on the door. She wanted to open it and see Mama. But she wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. So she went to ask Rige and Cass. Maybe they would know. She found them in the kitchen.
“Pizza or K.D.?” Rige was asking Cass, “Mom’s in bed again.”
Tena watched for that look to pass between her brother and sister, the look she’d seen so many times in the months since her last birthday, when all her friends came, and Mama made purple-passion punch and a seafoam-frosted spice cake and sandwiches cut into star shapes like she always did with cinnamon toast for Sunday breakfasts.
Tena loved Sunday morning cinnamon stars with tea that Mama made sweet and milky, ′specially for her.
Nana and Auntie Ann were at her birthday party, too, and they looked that look at each other when Mama said Daddy wasn’t coming to the party.
Mama still cooked a lot then, and the food was sooo good, ′specially the cinnamon stars. But then the food started to not taste so good, and Mama started not even getting up for Sunday breakfasts.
And then Daddy didn’t come home ever, and Mama sometimes dropped pans and burned things, and then cried and cried until her eyes were red and swelly – not just weepy like when she watched chick flicks with Cass.
Tena liked watching chick flicks with Mama, too. She felt more grown up watching them instead of her kid flicks. And she liked talking to Mama about grown-up things like astron oh mee.
She knew Mama had chosen star names for Rige and Cass, ′cause Mama loved stars. And star names were mostly Greek, like Thee ah‘s family next door. Tena also knew that Thee ah meant Auntie, like in Auntie Ann.
Thee ah had a star name, too. It was Andro ma kee, who was a princess and had a con stell ay shun and a gal ak see named after her. Rige was named for a star called Ri gel, and Cass, whose big name was Cass ee oh pee ah, was a con stell a shun, but not a gal ak see. Tena was pretty sure she’d got that right, ′specially the part about their names being Greek.
“Is your name Greek, too?” she had once asked her mother.
“Well, hunneybun, Thea sort of adopted me when we moved here, but I’m a WASP and so is my name.”
“And WASPs so often sting,” her daddy had said.
“Only when provoked,” Mama had snapped. Tena had wanted to ask why her mother was named for a stinging bug and what pro voked meant, but that look between her mother and father stopped her.
“What star am I?” she’d asked Mama later.
“You’re not a star, honneybun, but you are a miracle. You were so teeny when you were born, it scared us, but you just hung in there, so we called you Tenacity, because tenacity means never giving up. You were our tenacious baby girl.”
Tena thought she understood about her ten ay shus name, but secretly wished she had a star name, instead.
She also wished Mama would still talk to her about things, and wasn’t so sleepy and sad all the time. But at least she wasn’t so mad lately, and she and Rige didn’t fight so much.
Tena remembered the worst fight. She’d come into the kitchen and Rige was crying and Mama was hugging him and crying, too.
“Oh, Rigel,” Mama was saying, “I didn’t mean that, honey. You are NOT to blame. This is between your father and me. But sometimes it’s just all too much for me and I get so angry...”
Tena never heard Cass and Mama fight, but she did hear Cass crying sometimes, and Mama still cried, too, when she thought she was alone.
Now Mama was always alone, ′cause she spent so much time in bed.
“I’ll check the fridge. You check the cabinet.” Cass’ voice brought Tena back to the present. “We need to see how much she’s had.”
“What we need to see is that intervention Nana is pushing for,” muttered Rige.
“What’s a inter ven shun? asked Tena.
Her sister and brother jumped as she spoke. Sometimes, they seemed to forget she was even around lately.
“It’s when someone qualified is finally brought in to help,” snapped her brother, ignoring Cass’ warning look. “Don’t get wigged out again, Cass. We both know she needs help.”
Tena left the room, knowing her brother and sister were going to fight again. They’d been fighting a lot lately, and not just about what time Cass should be home and why Rige should get to say when she should be home, anyway. Lately they fought most about that inter ven shun word.
That night, Tena was still thinking about Mama needing help. Then she had an idea. It was cinnamon stars! Mama said she loved Sunday morning cinnamon stars, and tomorrow was going to be Sunday. Maybe that could be a inter ven shun.
Tena checked to see if they had bread, and if there was still cinnamon sugar in the shaker jar with the pretty green lid. Then she checked for butter and tea and milk, and was glad Rige and Cass were taking care of the things Mama used to. They might boss her around a lot, even when she told them, “You are not the boss of me,” but it was good they were getting food and stuff, so she supposed she could put up with the bossing until she did her inter ven shun with Mama.
In the morning, she got up really early and crept to the kitchen. She got out all her greed ee ants, like she’d seen Mama do, and filled the kettle from the special filter tap her daddy had put in the sink last year. She didn’t stop to wonder when she’d see her daddy again. Right now, she needed to just think about Mama.
She toasted and buttered the bread and sprinkled the cinnamon sugar all over it while it was still warm and gooey, and put Mama’s big star cookie cutter in the centre of each piece and pressed really, really hard to make the star shapes come out. She saved the outside pieces, like Mama always did. Tena didn’t think they tasted as yummy as the stars, but Rige and Cass always gobbled them up.
She was about to pour the boiling water into the teapot when Mama appeared at the doorway.
“Tena! What are you doing?! You know you’re not supposed to use the kettle alone!”
Tena jolted and knocked the teapot to the floor, where it cracked into pieces.
“I was just making a inter ven shun for you, Mama, like Rige says Nana thinks you need,” she wailed. “I wanted to give you cinnamon stars to make you happy again. I didn’t mean to break the teapot. Now you’re going to be even sadder and it’s all my fault.”
When Cass and Rigel rushed into the kitchen, Tena tried to explain about her inter ven shun, but that look passed between them and then between them and Mama. Mama walked to the fridge and took out the wine bottle she always kept in the door, and walked to the cabinet where she and daddy kept other bottles. And she started to cry and cry and cry.
“Oh Mom,” began Rige, as Cass looked on helplessly. “We just don’t know what to do anymore...”
“Oh my babies,” sobbed Mama.
And then she grabbed Nige and Cass and hugged and hugged them, which she hadn’t done in a long time. Tena wondered if this was how a inter ven shun was supposed to work, or if she’d somehow done it all wrong.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Mama hugged her, too, and then looked at the cinnamon stars on the counter.
“Oh, my baby girl, you really are a miracle,” she sniffed. “Let’s eat these and then make more until we can’t eat another bite. Rige... Cass... I’m so sorry. And I’ll be okay, I promise you.... Tena... you choose the first star, because that’s what you are... our shiny, wonderful, guiding star!”
Rige and Cass were hugging each other and crying, which was so weird, ′cause Tena had never seen them act that way together – not ever. But she was pretty sure her inter ven shun was working after all, ′specially if they all pretended later that Rige and Cass hadn’t actually hugged and cried and stuff.
And, as Mama started making more cinnamon stars, Tena thought, I don’t need a star name. I’m already Mama’s ten ay shus star!
S
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved
Photo: Dreamstime
Beachbaby Triptych
(A Postcard Poem)
Beachbaby sitting in sunlight, at first glance alone...
At closer range, I see...
she’s picking pebbles
with unfettered glee
from the palm of her mother
who lies on her back
sneaking moments of her own
to daydream, sleepily.
Baby selects a pebble, then...
with absolute delight
and quite astounding reach
throws with all her might
watches it fly
over the beach
laughing victoriously
into the sky
then takes the next
from her mother’s outstretched hand...
not another soul nearby
save baby, mother, sand
water, birds and sky.
I daydream a photo triptych not long after…
baby picking pebble
baby throwing pebble
baby dazzling seagulls
with her radiant laughter.
It’s as if her entire and glorious universe
is maintained
by each and every pebble
quiescently contained
in her mother’s bountiful palm...
and she somehow knows this bounty
will go on…
and on…
and on…
Enchanted by her certainty
I wish for her that it will.
As I turn for home
reluctantly
she is picking, throwing
and laughing still.
S
© 2011 Sharon Jackson - All Rights Reserved