A Door Closes, A Window Opens*

Silence roared,
by the slamming
of a door.  The room
was stifling until
an open window
let a fresh breeze in.
Such is the perfect time
to be remembering:
For every exit
that demands its way,
an entry opens
on a brand new day.

The original quote, which is attributed to Alexander Graham Bell, is as follows:

“When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

for Days that Don’t End Soon Enough

You can complain because roses have thorns or you can rejoice because thorns have roses. ~Ziggy

Tomorrow is yet to be. Today is the miracle. Unknown

In acceptance, there is peace. 1 Timothy 2:15

Worry is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere. Glenn Turner

Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy. –
Thich Nhat Hanh

The willow knows what the storm does not: that the power to endure harm outlives the power to inflict it.    Unknown

When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Patience is the key to paradise.  Turkish Proverb

Graceful May

Is it the warm breeze or the bird song?
Maybe it’s the puffy clouds
supported by a sky so brightly blue.

Who knew this day, preceded
by a week of rain, would claim
perfection without ado?

Graceful  May, you’ve brought the sun.
Finally the bloom is on the stem.
The scent of new mown lawn

perfumes the senses.  We didn’t
earn it or even expect it … this
gentle day we celebrate.

Such is His grace.

Bella’s Reflections


A mouse a day would drive me away,
unless, of course,  it is stuffed
with catnip and fluff.

My paws are much too manicured,
my flowing hair too bright,
my countenance too fair

to mar this feline fineness
with such barbaric play.
A good day for me

is spent in quiet luxury
with Slave at my beck and call,
“Time for a comb, Miss”

and she is there, smiling affably
or she will hear my discontented
meow, and possibly feel

just the tip of a tiny claw,
though I am careful
not to push my luck too far.

Good help
is hard to come by.

Those Who Ply the Tidal Stream*

By the shores of the Nanticoke
where the pines touch heaven every day
and ancient spirits dance by the light
of a cheddar moon,

there lives a plant called prickly pear.
Taking root, it claims the shore as fertile ground
and blooms a flower to match the full moon’s
candled hue.

Full bodied beauty, yet somehow delicate:
Don’t step on it. The thorns will give a mighty bite.
It has not lived this long by cringing
from unfriendly elements

and yet  there is a sense of nurturing
as if the hand of God is never distant
from this paradise overlooked by time,
a place unblemished by asp or Eve.

Mothered by the Chesapeake, it grows
towards that mighty Bay, a habitat
for threatened plants and animals, species
that have survived both calm and storm.

Tidewaters flow as icy clear as the day
His hand created them.  Though war once tinged
them red with blood, the ancient river
has washed their pain away

leaving the shoreline pristine again
for sun worshipers, watermen, the spirit
of the old Algonquin and the spreading roots
of the prolific prickly pear.

*The Nanticoke River, flowing quietly on the lower Delmarva peninsula, remains largely unchanged by the passage of time and still offers glimpses of the Chesapeake Bay as once inhabited by the Nanticoke Indians and discovered by Captain John Smith. The name Nanticoke translates to “those who ply the tidal stream”.

Nurturing the Glow

When the day is long and the sun
forgets to shine, remember the spark
that lives on the inside, that frisson
of energy that will not be denied.

Remember the day the breeze
blew warm and the orchard bloomed.
Remember summer’s first apple,
the burst of flavor in that first crisp bite.

Live each day as if it were your first
with all the wondrous amazement
and awe.  Inhale the bliss
of magnolias’ aroma; experience

the magic in the mist of a rainbow.
Nurture the dreams
of your inner child so the senses
will never grow dull