Weathered

verb: weath·er /ˈweT͟Hər/ -come safely through(a storm) -withstand (a difficulty or danger) past participle (weathered)

This word came to my mind when I observed the natural items below along the shore of the Mississippi River. On some days, I might have not given it all a second glance. Just debris left behind by currents and ice coming and going. That day I did notice, after taking a set of stone steps, twelve in number, that led me closer to the water’s edge.

I paused and wondered just how those leaves had retained their color and remained intact after months in and near the water. Perhaps the rocks had provided safe harbor, or were just a recent rest stop. Perhaps the stick and decaying plant material offered cushion and protection, or maybe they just met a few days ago. Life is like that. Full of mystery and questions. Awe and love.

I know. I know. A scientist could run through many scenarios and offer plenty of technical terms for some of the processes that occurred to bring this photo opportunity together. I choose to keep it simple today.

If these pieces of Nature could talk, they would enlighten me with a story that I can almost bet would include letting go, accepting, trusting, putting faith in a Higher Power/Mother Nature. Surely, the story would include going with the flow, literally and figuratively.

You and I each have our stories too. What we have weathered in tough times, and in good times. Who and what has supported and nurtured each of us? How did we help and hinder ourselves? I am a survivor. If you are reading this, you have survived too. Like the leaves, we are here to keep telling our stories, to listen intently to one another. Survival is only the start. The awe and love come in the living, fully living.

With April being National Poetry Month, I am churning out some more poems after a slow flow for months. Here is a short one I leave you with today:

Weathered

elements of my life . . .

some prompted by

inner demons,

others ushered in by

inner wisdom . . .

have shaped me into

a well-worn survivor

oxygenated by grace

sitting on a gold mine

of gratitude

-Lisa Valentine-