Midnight Plant

There are days when words come flying at me from somewhere, and I scribble them down as fast as I can.  Later, I sort them out and organize them into something coherent, often in the form of a poem of sorts.  Then  there are times, like today, when my heart and soul feel dry and arid as a dessert.  It's at times like this when my friend Susie's advice is so important.  She lives in England.  Her cheerful "chin up" is just what I need to hear.

This morning I will soon head off to attend the weekly bereavement group in which I participate.  We have three sessions remaining.  We'll probably continue to meet informally after that, at least that's what I hear some people say.  My golf lesson yesterday went very well.  I must remember to again thank Kevin, my nephew, for referring me to Dave Kendall.  He is absolutely amazing, and, he is going to make a golfer of me,  a near miracle.  Golf isn't a game of perfection, he says, it's a game of perfect effort.  Probably could apply that to a lot of life's cares and concerns.

I keep reminding myself that there is still so much of life to enjoy, and Gwen wants me to do that.  It is easy, on days like today, to get mired in futility and just plain feeling sad.  I'll continue to put one foot in front of the other and make sure I don't get so busy thinking about life that I forget about living.  Something I must have been feeling when I wrote this poem 20 years ago.  Gwen like this one a lot:

MIDNIGHT PLANT

Sitting in my easy chair

past midnight

not sleepy

thinking about

what I’m thinking about.

In the corner of my eye

the leaf of a house plant furls open

suddenly.

I’ve never seen that before

had I been asleep

I would have missed it.

Like all the shooting stars I’ve never seen.

John A. Bayerl, November 20, 1991

When I'm awake I need to make sure that I'm awake.  You were the shooting star that lit up my life for so long, and I am thankful that I saw you that night in that warehouse in Marquette.