Proportion

Big.

Little.

It's all about proportion.

Take peas, for example.

Give them a chance.

 

I once wrote a long essay on peas,

but here's something new:

 

When a grandchild who is now 15

was in his teen months—

say, 18 or 19 months—

just cutting his teeth on language,

I was one day supervising his snack:

a little dish of cooked peas.

He held a pea between his

tiny thumb and index finger,

inspected it,

then pronounced:

"Ball!"

 

I still think that was a moment of genius,

of abstract reasoning beyond his years.

 

On the other hand, maybe he was just babbling,

trying out sounds,

and the interpretation was simply

that of a besotted nana.

But if I heard correctly,

perhaps the word presaged

that once-little boy's

current brilliance

as a baseball pitcher.

 

 

Copyright © 2019 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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Praise Grief

Praise your grief,

if by "praise" you mean

attending to, accepting,

and embracing what might otherwise

flatten you into pancakeness.

 

Praise grief for how it opens you

to life's sweetness laced with bitter loss,

for such it is:

bitterness as the finish to our joy.

You are in flux because you are human.

Your grief, however real and fierce,

is modulated on all sides,

through all sounds,

by the minute flashes of gold

that light your way each minute.

 

Did you see it?

The tiny snowflakes

(so few as to be countable)

on that child's hatless head?

Quick! Did you see

the score of pigeons arrayed on the line

for your delight?

The grief persists—

it always will—

and still.

And still.

 

 

Copyright © 2019 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

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Notions

My notions lie sorted into bins

and ranged on shelves

ready to hand,

up for the grabbing,

waiting for the Muse of Making to return.

 

That gentle Muse fled so many months ago

it's madness to expect her back

and in the meantime skills decline,

fingers become ever less nimble,

and the urge to make slides down some slippery slope

into the slough of despond,

never to be seen again.

And here I am,

my notions taking space on shelves

like metaphoric dogs in mangers,

not to be moved because of others' needs.

 

Declutterfy's the word.

The imperative is loud and clear,

a bell-wether

ringing in the changes called for by age.

The solution?

Just dump those notions

on an unwary kindergarten teacher.

She'll know how to use them!

 

 

Copyright © 2019 Ann Tudor
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00JI4758O

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