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© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016

 

We had been snuggled in a quiet snow over night, winter stepping quietly back in to softly cover us. We awoke to a winter world flocked in gentle white.  The SSB Drever and I went for our walk this morning. At one point, a slight wind whipped the flocking of snow off a tree from across the street. It landed on us and on the pavement like dainty dollops of cream. We paused our steps to just to be and to enjoy this beautiful offering.

I don’t know if March came in like a lion or a lamb. We had experienced temperatures near 70* last week, (single digits the week before that) and now it was cold again. Yesterday was blue sky and cold sunshine. Today, more of an early February feel with big flaked snow. In a few days it will be back in the 60’s and close to 70 again.

It is almost as though winter has a passive-aggressive relationship with us, maybe not unlike some of our relationships with people, relationships with the seasons of our lives. Somehow, you know that, no matter what it was-passionate, intense, violent, calm, serene, disengaged- there are subtle signs it is coming to an end.  Even though today is blanketed in snow, spring is peeping through in the change of light and tips of green poking through the thinning layer of dead leaves. There are signs when other relationships-people, places, and our place in time- in our lives are coming to an end and change is on the way. We see them, but we don’t. We just keep going on thinking whatever is will always be.

Not unlike a person taking the significant one out for dinner to soften the blow of ending a relationship, or to deliver any bad news, maybe winter wanted to leave with a soft memory today. A gentle day to obliterate the memories of harshness and cold. Maybe at the end of it all, all the memories we have will have softened like this gentle winter day.

Whispered Winter Farewell

 

 

Snow Covered Tables At Henry's

Snow Covered Tables At Henry’s -© Jo Hewitt 2016

Soft fluffy flocking 

 

Freely falling off, downward, 

 

Soft, whispered farewell.

Uzbeki Traveling Band

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016

My  neighbor is in and out. I keep an eye on her house for her. Sometimes she tells me when she will be gone, and sometimes she forgets. One time I kidded her, in a most random fashion, that I was concerned she had been kidnapped by a band of Uzbekis.  She was out again and this word play came to mind.

The Uzbeki Traveling Band 

 
She left the ole’ homestead land
To take up, so they say, as I understand,
To ramble with an Uzbeki balalaika,
Tanbur, an’ tambour traveling band.

 

Each member wore a matching cumber band,
Rosey cheeks and skin well tanned.
With dancing feet and waving hands,
They whirled and twirled; the music outward fanned .

 

To the music both humble and grand, 
She danced with her heart on worn out rands,
On rock and sand and village meadowland.
Such their music journey spanned.

 

Watchers watched, drinking tea with gha’nd.
And when hearts melted by music strands,
Singing souls began to understand,
Why she traveled with the Uzbeki band.
 

 

They traveled the earth,-silk, sea, and sand.
Then, the day was done; it was time to disband.
They loaded the caravan well manned.
And she returned again to the ole’ homestead land.
 
 
 
 
Klavdy Lebedev Plyaska 1916

Klavdy Lebedev Plyaska 1916

Redolent D’or

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

An historic vibrant neighborhood is precious, glittering golden in autumn light. It is not just the sights, the sounds, but the smells. The SSB Drever and I walked in such a neighborhood today, the arms of the changing air wrapping around us, the falling leaves flitting down, waving before our eyes, flirting before dancing with our feet. The dusty, musty smells, fingers of earthy musk reaching up to us, inviting us into Autumn’s spell. Even the remains of vibrant Summer’s green succumb to the heady musk, numb to that which is to come.

 Redolent D’or

 

Woodruff in Autumn-© Jo Hewitt 2015

Woodruff in Autumn-© Jo Hewitt 2015

 
 
 
Delectable                                          
 
D’or Redolent 
 
Delicious Scent
 
Detritus
 
Days Diminish to
 
Dusty Debris
 
 
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

The Winged Realm

Asher and Parisa at the sunshine spot. From- The Winged Realm © Jo Hewitt

Asher and Parisa at the sunshine spot. From- The Winged Realm. © Jo Hewitt 2015

Asher and Parisa ran to the sunshine spot. They had seen the butterflies appear and disappear from here before. They had wondered where the butterflies go.

They waited.

They knew the butterflies would be back because they had come to them in the dreamtime with soft butterfly kisses and said,

“Come to us at the sunshine spot. 

Come to the edge where light meets dark.

Fly with us to The Winged Realm.”

Soon they would know.

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

Small Town Girl Moves to City.  The headline should continue: And Changes the City. Well, at least my neighborhood. Tammi Hughes, as Executive Director of The East 10th Street Civic Association for 13 years, has given her time, energy, and really, her heart and soul in the growth and change along this section of East 10 Street and its neighborhoods, in and out of the office. On a personal level she has reached out to help people, anything from finding a place to live, mowing someone’s yard when that person couldn’t (me and mine), and comforted hearts when people have suffered at the hands of crime, poverty, and the other ugly children of ignorance and injustice.

It is hard to put on a super hero cape everyday and fight the good fight.  Tammi Hughes, yes you, I want to say thank you for all that you have done, for the community, with all the positive changes you have helped bring about, and for me, as my neighbor and friend, for being there.  (By the way, I took our super hero costumes to be dry cleaned so we can take a little break.)

Tammi Hughes, this one is for you.

 

The Spirit of East 10th Street

 
Star drop music night,

 

Dream and deed meet, dance in light,

 

Soul Light East 10th Street.

 
 
 
 
 
The Spirit of East 10th Street

The Spirit of East 10th Street by Jo Hewitt 2015

 
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

Calamitous life events. During mine, I asked someone, “Does the pain ever go away?” “No,” he said. “But eventually you find a way to put it in a little box and store it away where it doesn’t hurt as much.” Another friend likened the hurt, the painful memories, to a stone in your pocket.

Stones in your pockets. You revisit each stone, taking it out, turning it over and over, looking at it from every side, scrutinizing it, analyzing it, holding on to it, holding on to the pain and then putting it back into the dark to weigh you down, you not ready to let go. Maybe you hold onto it because you feel you have nothing else to hold or hold onto.

You take it out again and  again. Each time cutting your heart on the shards of  broken illusions. But each time the edges smooth a little and then a little more until the stones of sorrow diminish, slip away, stone after stone, your life pieced as a path cobbled from those sorrows, from those stones.  The stones that had weighed you down were stepping stones, all along, to lead you to your life.

 

Stones in My Pockets

Time’s fingers reach for,
Turning over and over,
Stones in my pockets.
 
Rounding edges of
Heart shards aftermath pain path, 
Stones in my pockets.
 
Time alone softened stone
Let go echoes cobbled stones
Fall from my pockets.
 
 
 
Pebbles by West Country Photographic

Pebbles by Westcountry Photographic

 
 

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

The SSB Drever and I were walking the other day.  The humidity is up and it is hot by eight. It is mid summer again. The din of cicadas is in the air again. They are emerging from their shells, mating, and dying, leaving their progeny, again. Cycles upon cycles. Emergence. Shedding shells. We rest still where grass meets concrete.

.

Cicada

 
Winged green meets concrete
 
Din of time lies still, passage
 
Silent marks our clock
 
Cicada at the edge of concrete and grass. © Jo Hewitt 2015

Cicada at the edge of concrete and grass. © Jo Hewitt 2015

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

As the SSB Drever and I were heading from the house toward the garage to leave for a morning walk, I looked across to see my neighbor standing in her yard. I said hello. We each walked closer to the fence to talk, I with The SSB in tow.  I sensed something was not right. As she reached the fence, instead of facing me, her body aligned with her gaze, looking far off and away, searching.

“Jo, is your mother alive?” she asked.

“No. She died a little over two years ago,” I answered.

“My mother just died.”  She paused. “Does the pain ever end?”

I paused.

“It, it gets better,” I responded, as tears welled, hers and mine.

I listened. Her words spilled out with her tears as she told of her mother’s journey of deterioration and death, of her qualities and quirks, memories of younger years. I echoed back to her my experience. We shared the emptiness that we felt with the passing of our mothers. Her mother was just past 64. Mine was three days short of 97. There never is a good age or a good time to lose your mother. We talked of people knowing it was their time to go, of the souls waiting to receive them, and of connections to the spiritual realm. She had cared for her mother those last months, weeks, days and moments. She knew her mother would be waiting for her, to care for her. It gets better.

Threads of Sorrow

Take threads of sorrow.
Weave with remembrance. Draped, soft,
Solaced tomorrows.
 
 
 
Portrait of Anna Akhmatova by Nathan Altman 1914

Portrait of Anna Akhmatova by Nathan Altman 1914

 
 
 
© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

The SSB Drever and I took our morning walk at the park today. It has just enough wildness, excessive manicuring kept at bay, such that its carpet of grass is sprinkled with a confectionary delight of clover. I love the look of clover. I love the smell of it. As a child, for me, it was the perfect bed for dreaming under butter milk blue skies.

Amidst Morning Clover

 

2015-06-05 15.46.05 copy edit 1 
 
 
Humble and gentle,
Subtle, whispered summer scent,
On childhood thought plays.
 
Sunlit fragrant haze,
Clover blossom path beckons
Back to childhood days.
 
 
 

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2015

This event and haiku are from 2012.

The SSB Drever and I ran across something today on our walk that I wish we hadn’t.  Someone had dragged a picnic table into a tree covered ravine/gully and now it was being use for some “extra-curricular activities”. There are some trails that pass through the gully between the grassy areas, running right by the table. Thank goodness I was alert to noises. We did not take those trails; therefore, fortunately we were not exposed to the full monty in action.

The participants had driven their scooter right up to the treed area so they could high tail it out of there when they were done. The funny thing was that they made a few rounds on the streets that border the park before finally leaving the park area. Maybe they were trying to dry out, air out a bit before they headed home.

I think the City Parks Department should know about this. So…

 Memo to the Parks Department

 
Park Picnic Table by Angela Ooghe

Park Picnic Table by Angela Ooghe

 
 
 
Thought unseen ravine.
 
 
Picnic nookie nook, lark at
 
 
Ellenberger Park.
 
 

 

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