Growing Into It

The shirt hung large on his small frame. ‘you’ll grow into it.’ She spoke with authority and knowing. He tugged at the sleeves which engulfed his hands. Comforted by the large shirt. Wanting for too long to be small. Because small meant he was out of the way. Muniscule. Unimportant. Overlooked.

The shirt sleeves hit too high on his arm. He grew into it, and now out of it.Bigger. Stronger. A tad surer. He loomed over some. Not aggressively, but by shear size. Gentle. Caring. 

He grew into himself. By shear luck, or circumstance. It really did not matter how it was labeled. He felt good. Whole. 

He took that wholeness and shaped a world.

‘I Want To Be A Photographer!’ Said The Gnome

He happened upon a camera, sitting quietly on a bench. 

He picked it up. Declared his luck. Merrily skipped away.

The camera was gigantic for the little gnome.

He was not discouraged as he drug it home.

He snapped photos of his flakey friends.

a pile of us 2020

Photos of his room. 

My room. Out of focus. 2020.

It was a very exciting afternoon!

Until the others happened by. Saw his pictures. Told him not to try.

He cried a bit. Dried his tears. Went along his way.

‘I will be a photographer, someday!’
He snapped photos every chance he got. Some rather good and some not.

He had a lot of fun. Smiling along the way.

Bumping into another gnome one day, who asked to see his photos…if that was okay.

Sheepishly he showed her. Delighted she liked his stuff.

These are really, really good! You should show them off.

He shrugged off her compliment. Hearing the jeers from before.

How could he get over that? Show them to more?

Working hard to get past the fear.

He took her up on the offer to appear

In a restaurant, which lead to more and more spots.

Soon his images were everywhere!

Flakey friends. 2020.

He was a photographer! Taking photos of things he cared.

frozen front porch. 2020.
lawn.

Seeking A Quieter Way

Walking among the ice crystals.

Footfall echo off the trees.

All is silent. Except my feet.

The crow caws once to announce the intrusion.

All else falls silent, my foot fall finds a mossy path.

Falls silent, as well.

In the silence the trees begin to whisper.

Quietly. Then with more force. The cold causes their branches

to moan. A sound my body understands on this cold morn.

Holding its agreement by bringing to my awareness an ache so deep

it burns. We will be warm soon. A few more treks through the forest. 

Squirrel would like to say hi. He does. Quickly. 

Flashing his bright colors before he burrows

into his grassy bed in the crook of the tree.

Moving on. Grunts and air blowing. Deer run by. Dodging left and right.

Sprinting through the trees. Laughing at my lack of agility, or the fact I insist on keeping to the human path.

Which winds in and around trees and shrubs. Never following a direct route. Meandering through.

Footfall echoing crunches of ice again. Loudly stating my goodbye.

As I try to quiet them. The ice protesting with every break, until I step onto quieter ground.

Saying goodbye to the beauty around me. Thanking the animals for their acceptance of my crunching through their home to find solace among the trees.

Searching for a quieter way.

Looking Through The Stained Glass

She sat, cross legged.
The step was hard.
She barely noticed.
Focused on the colored light circling her legs.
Everything else disappeared.

Movement caught her eye.
There was something on the other side.
Standing fast. Moving forward.
She pressed her face to the clear panel.
The one in the corner of the intricate window.

Looking through a tiny square.
She saw it looking back at her.
Tall and lengthy. It stared back.
Smiling some, as if to ask,
Would you come and play with me?

She rushed down the steps.
Out the door in a blur of skirts.
Finding him staring up.
Looking for her.

Giggling. She asked. Will you come and play at last?
Grin splitting his face wide.
He jumped up, tail wagging high.
Tossing balls and chasing sticks.
They played forever, or so it seemed.
Until she woke from the dream.

The Wizard

With a snap of his fingers,
A flick of his wrist,
He created a million dollars.
It appeared in a mist.

Eyes wide, mouths a gap,
We sat there not breathing,
Or thinking. Marveling how?

Then with a nod,
He said, "Go on, now."

Dispersing to the streets.
We snapped our fingers.
We flicked our wrists,
But nothing appeared.
Not even mist.

Years passed.
As they do.
We learned and thought.
Grew and grew.

Passing the town square one day.
We saw the wizard
In full display!

He snapped his fingers.
Flicked his wrist.
Created diamonds out of mist!

Looking at him with skeptical eyes,
We walked over, to talk to him.
Ask why he would trick these men.

'A trick?' He laughed.
'Tis not.

A trick implies what you saw was a lie.'

We tried it ourselves.
It did not work.

'Did you think it would?'

'Well, no!'

'Then that's why.'

Eyes open, mouths wide,
Why, oh why, did we even try?

He must be playing another trick,
A mind game, that is.

'Belief is a must.' He said.

'Use your mind to believe
And worlds you will create.
These diamonds are small compared
To what you can change.
If you believe,
It all falls into place.'

Spectacular

Trying hard to decorate.
He stubbed a toe.
He tangled his mate.
It all looked as if he fought a foe.

Almost falling off the roof.
Skidding down the ladder, too.
Festive is hard work. He's proof.
Now where is his shoe?

Untangled, almost done.
It is coming together.
Although it did not look fun.
They laughed a lot. Enjoyed the weather.

Now to wait until dark.
For a holiday display that will be magical.
Something to cause the dog to bark.
A display that is spectacular!

Love and blessings readers. đź’• Carrie