My Window

We made it to Fort Walton Beach at about 1:00pm today. It was a short, but scenic drive from Birmingham through the real deep south. Lots of junky trailers and run down houses interrupted by huge southern mansions. Strange country. We stopped at a gas station in a really really small town that smelled like sulfur.  There was a lady in front of me at the check out, she was buying 3 packs of cigs and a 6-pack of beer. This is what she said, “I didn’t quit smokin’, I quit drinkin’, but I thought I’d keep this in my trunk just in case.” Seriously, I wish I had videotaped it.

The rest of tonights blog comes straight from Grandma. As she often does, she took some time tonight to read me some of her recently written poems. She writes a lot, and has published a fantastic book of her works. Many of her recent stuff is about death, it seems to be a theme for her right now. I can understand why, she is 85 and all of her peers are dead or dying. This one struck me, it is about a new etched glass door she had put on to her condo in Plymouth. She can be inspired by anything.

My Window by Betty Jane Gove

I can look at beauty every day.
The tall blue iris reminds me
the spring will come each year.
bringing all the newness
That rises from the Earth.
We must keep beauty in our sights
Or the mundane tasks of daily life
Will stifle all we’ve ever dreamed about
I will keep my eyes on the stately iris.
They rise up from slumber in the bog
It will be my talisman when winter nears.
A harbinger of future springs to come.

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