cronechronicler

You don't know where you are going. You don't know how to get there. And you arrive just the same. Ghanaian saying

Coronavirus Itinerary

From the beginning
It was a strange journey
I thought I would do well
I like staying home

My many fixed routines
Soon seemed to crumble
I needed companionship
The warm blooded kind

I talked to my plants
Texted friends and family
Read books, watched old movies
Took long walks outside

I realized present time
Took all of my energy
Learning to Zoom
Became a mixed blessing

Past familiar habits
No longer sustained me
It was exhausting
Getting through the day

Future time distant
Offered no hint of comfort
May as well live
In this new present I’m in

Mornings are difficult
A thick fog encircles me
Passing by lunchtime
Leaving me empty

And then this morning
I welcomed a visitor
My muse on my shoulder
Telling me to write

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My Writing Room

The smaller of the two bedrooms in my apartment became my writing room when I moved here eight years ago. This is where my blog began with the help of a willing grandson. The large window is a portal to my imagination. I love the tall oak tree among whose spreading branches I watch squirrels and birds build nests and care for their young. The moon and changing colors of the sky shape the budding poet inside me. Within my room are things that remind me of my journey.

Green plants live near my window to catch the light. All are off-spring shoots from friends and family. Tending them nourishes the outdoor gardener in me. On the window ledge are things that shine on sunny days – a royal blue glass coffee mug, souvenir from a Colorado trip; a bluish purple paperweight that was my son’s; an old brass cowbell with lots of family history.

The walls have a geographical bent – picture of a Texas cowboy riding on a lonesome road, wedding present to my Dad a Texan, too. A wooden wall clock in the shape of Ohio, gift to me from my congregation in a small Ohio town. Three framed certificates mark my progress to become their minister.

Everything else is furniture that has traveled with me for a while. The student desk and chair were used by my three sons. The much-scarred cherry end table, a gift from my mother in the 60’s, has been in every home I’ve known. The futon came with me from Chicago when I moved back to Cleveland to be with my family here. My glass computer table and new laptop are beside a table where my printer sits. They are the newest things except for what I write, which await my muse.

With many thanks to Pleasant Street who gave me the idea to write this piece.

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Haiku: Fall House Cleaning

Muse has been drowsing
Beneath life’s daily matters
Awakening now

Cleansing rain falling
Breezes create refreshment
Words begin to stir

Family heart work
Enters time of fruition
Now space for my soul

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