“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


Words Fall Like Rain

I am starting my day with no picture, just words, just these words here on this computer screen. I will take a picture on my way in to work, this rainy morning after a night of thunder way way off in distance, waking me, unsure if it really was thunder; there is a shutter down on the back porch, one that was just propped against the wall for visual appeal, perhaps it was prowling raccoons that awakened me over and over.

Funny thing about just words, how you toss them out into the Universe and they get heard, and ideas are born and then more ideas and you think yes, you said you wanted to write, but really you are surprised the Universe was so closely listening, so attentive, surprised at the opportunities and possibilities tossed back at you, as if to say really? you want to write? you've always said you have nothing to say, well, here then, look here, a gift, write. And that's really the reason I kept waking, I suppose, new ideas in my head, another new project maybe in the works, one that kept me up late thinking fastfastfast, yes, no wonder it was a sleepless night.

Yesterday was Mary's birthday and if she were still here, she'd've been, what? 96? I missed her all day, her house that was so open to us all now closed, shut up like a tomb though people are living there, sheets and blankets hanging over her windows. I don't know how Charlie the cat can see out and that bothers me, those windows were never covered and he had so many places to lay and watch the world outside, and now does he feel a stranger all over again? Almost a year since she left us all, and he had to readjust to no Mary, then to new tenants - he is part of the house - and now to no window perches, and does he feel it closing in like I do, feel the changes that continue continue continue will they never stop?

There is a camellia bush blooming in her side yard, white blossoms against green and brown and under gray skies and only a year ago I could run over and take all the pictures I wanted, could cut a few for a vase, these first blossoms always a wonder, but those covered windows say keep out and so I do.

And so I write,
and this morning I am not on the couch
where I can see those blossoms,
but propped up in my bed,
watching the gray skies from another direction.
My back to the flowers,
my soul open to the rain,
my heart trying.
happy belated mary


  1. it is hard to see a home become something else entirely...closed and dark like the day..you captured the rain feelings and image so well...going out to cover my plants AGAIN!

  2. Debi, this makes me feel wet and sad and empty. I, too have had such a day. Outside, the wind tosses trees and snow like they were equally weightless. I've been feeling tossed and battered...and perhaps the Universe has responded.

    And I, too, am missing the way things used to be.

  3. I'm so sorry for the loss of your friend, Debi. The rain always seems to magnify loss and makes something sad even sadder. You do have some lovely memories of her and a lovely reminder in the camellia bush, even though you no longer can take photos or cut a bloom or two for yourself.

  4. so understandable ... what you are saying with your words and your photo

  5. I'm sorry for the loss of your friend and the love she expressed through the opening of her home. And now that it is shut, and her beloved cat can't even look out - it does feel like rain.

  6. visiting from soul aperature, very pretty; love this limited use of color; grey on red. lovely.

  7. You are such an insightful and compassionate observer, noticing things and reflecting on them so deeply and thoughtfully. This is how you move me.


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