Her Place

She sat silently on the swing
Watching humming birds
Helicopter their way
In and out the red salvia

A hideaway of sublime solace
Serenely nestled among
Hostas, day lilies, and Alberta dwarf spruces
Planted for beauty and deer food

Sometimes I joined her
To be together, to talk
Or just to swing softly
In sweet silence

But it was really
Her swing, her place
For coffee, a book
Or profound worship

This year oddly meandered by
Without my neighbor's spectacular
October Glory maple tree
Which died unexpectedly, unexplainably

And the swing has been empty
For a while now
Except for the foot of snow
And the chickadee that visits

Today a delightful deer
Strode by the swing
And perhaps glimpsed the chickadee
As in a flash it flitted toward heaven

An Unnoticed River

The jet engines sang their steady whine of a song as folks tried to get a little shut-eye or at least comfortable. A few read the news or the SkyMall Magazine, while others played sudoko or read a book from their ancient "to read" list. One lady was using a large magnifying glass with a built-in light so she could see the fine print in her book.

As I tried to relax and reflect on the couple weeks' retreat I had just experienced, an emptiness resurfaced in the calm lake of memories. Little whitecaps began to ripple into severe choppiness. The choppy water of my mind soon turned into roaring waves, accompanied by deep dread. The two-pronged disturbance turned turbulant because my wife Edith is dead and also because I would be returning to an empty house.

Hot tears started to trickle down my face. The trickle was soon steadily coursing down my cheeks like a broken faucet that could not be fixed. This has happened many times since September 4, 2009. But most all the time it has happened when I have been alone. Now what? What if someone sees me crying? How could someone not see me? What if they think I am having a mental breakdown. If someone would have asked me a question, I could not have spoken any words. These tears have no words. I never knew tears could leave one speechless.

And I never dreamed that I could cry on a plane for 1/2 an hour and no one see me. I was not trying to be seen, but I did not think I would go unnoticed. But everyone in front of me was looking ahead or snoozing. Same with those behind me. The flight attendants were strangely still for 30 minutes, the couple on my right were asleep, and the two guys across the aisle to my left were totally absorbed in their books.

Besides feeling sad and lonely, I felt quite alone and distinctly disconnected from the sea of strangers who surrounded me. There was no American Airlines attendant who offered to relieve my distress. Nor could she. But, strangely, an invisible Flight Attendant walked down the aisle, read the fine print of my heart with His lighted magnifying glass, collected every single tear I shed and, of all things, put them in a bottle. (Psa 56:8) It also felt like He hugged me.

I hope that if someone I am near needs a shoulder, a prayer, or a kleenex that I will not be too occupied playing sudoko or flipping through SkyMall Magazine to notice.