Greetings, my dear digital friends!
I write to you today from a holiday weekend in the Adirondack mountains.
A weekend of hiking with our daughters and their boyfriends. A weekend where there is now 100% chance of rain and the high temperature will be 38F. 😨
So I am posting this toasty little poem ahead of my original planned release date. To be honest, to lift my spirits a wee bit as we watch our best-laid plans disassemble.
Because it dawned on me just now – life is less about doing than being.
And I am resolved to celebrate the love of my wonderful family this weekend. Enjoy being together, even if that means simply watching baseball in a crowded pub.
Because it’s the joy and the laughter that we will remember. Not some waterlogged hiking trail.
I hope this poem finds you all well… and maybe even warms a few hearts along the way, too.
Please let me know your thoughts, feelings, and reactions to this poem in the ‘Leave a Reply’ comment section at the bottom of this page.
-PS Conway ☘️ ☘️ ☘️
☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️
weeds in sunlight
the heat from the sun
warms our souls
stretched out velvet-soft
midst the purple-skinned greenery
of the vineyard
wine flows through lips
parted sleek and crimson
poured from a jade chalice
inscribed with a prayer
for Solomon
a dull bee buzz lulls us
into complacency
slow and somnolently
all we needed
all we’d ever become
left to blossom
left to wither
wine mixes
with blood and tears
fingers swirled on the rim
create vibrations
‘til love reveals itself
invisible
in-constant
yet deep felt in our bones
we begin anew
swathed like weeds in sunlight
Love so deeply, yet simply, realized but becomes so strongly hard fought for and discovered…Lovely poem, P.S.
Thanks, PS! And a lovely comment from you as well, my friend. 🙏🏻🌹🍷✨✨
PS, this poem has brought back lovely memories, four years of living amongst the vines in the South of France. The warm Mediterranean sunshine and deep blue skies.
The vines, deeply rooted into the earth seeking the nourishment they require. Lovingly nurtured to produce their fruit. Gently picked by hand as has been done since Roman times, that was humbling.
Our children require tender love and nurturing in the same way so that they can grow strong and produce their own fruit.
How lovely to have precious time with them, despite the inclement weather.
I raise a glass of red wine to you all 🍷 and hope the trail was passable.
Just two more points … you will remember this and you will laugh. Oh, and weeds can be beautiful.
A heartwarming poem. As always thank you.
🙏🍷🍀🍀🍀
What a wonderfully heartwarming memory of your times in the South of France, Sandie! Thanks so much for your kind words and sharing such wisdom and beauty with us all. Cheers, my friend. 🍷🍷🙏🏻🙏🏻☘️☘️☘️
I really felt like I was getting drunk and sleepy reading this Pat. Your words cast a spell over me. Sometimes, in the fall, I do feel like a squashed grape. But today I felt more like a weed basking in the sunlight, waiting for love ( hubby is away for the weekend). 😜
Ahhh the entrancing hocus pocus of words, eh, Naomi? Before you know it, hubby will be back in your loving arms… thanks, my friend. 🌹💙🙏🏻🍷✨