The Owl's Song

     I'm going into the WAY BACK machine for this one. September 25, 2007. That's more than 10 years ago. The reason I'm going here is because a barred owl was calling outside of my window last night. I opened the window and called back. The exchange went on for a bit and then I stopped answering. She came back and called a while later. I always enjoy being able to communicate with a wild creature. The genesis for this poem was complicated... too complicated to revive and relive. It was a beautiful time, a time of learning and a time of healing for me. I had a wonderful teacher. He was very patient. I'm afraid I wasn't always a good student, yet, he was patient. This is just one of the things that I created during that time. This poem is something that I have been thinking about. It is no mistake that the owl came when she did. 

     Maybe the owl is back as my totem:

When the owl shows up in your life, pay attention to the winds of change. Perhaps you are about to leave some old habits, a situation that no longer serve you or bring something new in your life. Only time will tell. Time to listen, time to reflect.

The Owl's Song

The owl, 

she flies in search of love

on quiet wings

at night

A silent journey 

that she makes

quite often

out of sight

She makes her roost

high upon a branch

the whole wood

for to see

Sends out her cry

for all to hear

reaching none

but me

"Why is your heart

so heavy dear

burdened with

such sorrow

Open up the door

and let love in

start living for tomorrow"

I listen to her 

wise old song

echoing through 

the wood

Her words I wish

that I knew how-

I'd go there

if I could

I listen harder

searching inside

my heart that 

seems so still

I feel a little flutter

resonating deep

a feeling like

no other

I cry back to her

so silently 

"I don't' know how

to love again"

Each time I do 

I stand alone

much to my

sorrow and chagrin

The wise old owl

she presses on

with what she has

to say

"My dear just

go and search your soul-

true love

will come your way"

As I turn 

to go to bed

I think about 

her words

The wise old owl

has made me think

about what love

affords

I smile a grin

as large as life

to myself 

inside the dark

The owl is right

she knows the truth

of how to mend

a broken heart

I hear her song

one last time

echoing through

the wood

She flies away

so silently

content, I

understood

Radio Ga Ga

I'd sit alone and watch your light 

My only friend through teenage nights 

And everything I had to know 

I heard it on my radio 

(Radio) 

You gave them all those old time stars 

Through wars of worlds -- invaded by Mars 

You made 'em laugh -- you made 'em cry 

You made us feel like we could fly 

So don't become some background noise 

A backdrop for the girls and boys 

Who just don't know or just don't care 

And just complain when you're not there 

You had your time, you had the power 

You've yet to have your finest hour 

(Radio) 

~Queen, Radio Ga Ga

She was homeless and wished for a transistor radio, however, her situation did not allow for frivolous  jaunts to Target where she could aimlessly meander up and down the aisles while she fed her pipe dreams of if and when.  It was easy for me to purchase the radio for her... the difficult part would be finding her!

I had no idea JUST how difficult it would be! I knew I could find her at the train station. I would take a ticket, park in the parking garage, run up the long escalator or sometimes go up or down multiple flights of stairs, circulate through the upper portion of the train station, go down the escalator and circulate through the bottom of the train station, ascend the long staircase and run back to my car. If I was able to do that in under 10 minutes, my parking was free. If not, I had to pay one dollar. My quest had begun. I checked twice a day, every day. Sometimes parking was difficult to find. I had to wind my way all the way to the roof of the parking garage and then go down a million flights of stairs. By the time I made my rounds and made it back to my car, I had to pay a dollar. Sometimes I would say to myself "No good deed goes unpunished" and then I would chide myself for even letting such an idiotic saying creep into my head! My woman was nowhere in sight! 

I started to realize that my mission was bigger than my own world. I began to enlist the help of others. I asked my train riding colleagues if they had seen her. They said yes, however sightings of her were spotty and unpredictable. I spoke to the head of the transportation center security. He knew her well, and took me down to the lower level where many homeless people hung out because it was warm there. No dice! He asked a homeless man named Angel whether or not he had seen the homeless woman with the carts. "She was here earlier!", he replied. Angel was wide eyed and probably wondered what I wanted with her. He had a large gash across the bridge of his nose and I couldn't help but wonder how it got there. I had choked back a few tears when I heard his name. Even Angels can be homeless... how ironic. 

Burnt Orange

Autumn is in full swing in New England. It hasn't been a particularly spectacular autumn. I actually feel that the colors are quite muted. It doesn't make the season any less wonderful, it is just different this year. Change is ongoing. Making new friends, keeping the old, losing some who have moved on and being ready to let go even when we don't want to, those are all part of change. We must be wise and supple enough to flow with change and not to resist it.

I recently decided to think about my Crayola crayons again. It's an exercise that never gets old. This time, for many different reasons, I have chosen Burnt Orange. I have been away from this forum for far too long. I have many (some say TOO many) irons in the fire right now, but something inside me feels the need to breathe life back into this space. Hell, what's one more iron, right?

Burnt Orange

Liquid warmth
The kind that floods your window
On a beach holiday
Burnt orange 

Laughter 
As it bubbles up
From the depths of my soul
Burnt orange

Marmelade
My favorite
Made from the bitter Seville
Burnt orange

Sharp tongue
Said the wrong thing
Hurt
Burnt orange

Japanese Maple
Transitioning gracefully 
Becoming dormant
Burnt orange 

Anger
Brimming over
No longer inside
Burnt orange

Sunrise
Quiet reflection
Deep gratitude
Burnt orange 

Irons in the fire
Many of them
Glowing bright
Burnt orange

Friendship
A warm glow
Not alone
Burnt orange

Right now
I
Am
Burnt orange