From Poems to Panic?

 

The pendulum swings, emotions swing with it. Walking in Nature, watching the news...heart conversations with old friends, one with better health news and one with a family tragedy (See below)...watching and listening to the Monks, worrying about the state of things, gluing bits of paper and reading (hearing) poems...

* Across the street from the park - a wide, long grass and tree space

The 18th park... 

Off we went on another warm day - 79° - down the roads and up the hill...off to walk the perimeter of yet another park and to see what we could see. The park had the usual equipment and open spaces. I was really enamored with the look/feel of the large grassy open parkway between the homes and the school. J. tried out some of the exercise equipment, while the children's area was filled with bare feet and squeals of laughter. On the other side of the park was another leg of the city bike/walking path and on the other side of that was another riverbed. 

"At 2.9 miles, the Cliffie Stone Trail in Santa Clarita runs parallel to the west side of the San Francisquito Creek corridor. Relatively flat and easily accessible from the adjacent residential areas, the trail’s sandy surface makes it best suited for horses and confident hikers. The creekbed offers a variety of different native plants and wildlife." LINK

We crossed the road, heading down the sweet scented cement path, marveled at the stillest hummingbird and then discovered the path to the riverbed.

California Sagebrush, Mule Fat, Buckwheat, Cottonwoods...

We could tell water had rushed through not too long ago, as so many of the plants were laid over with debris caught in their roots and branches. Some crows and one lizard and lots of quiet.

A bone, a rock with deep lines...tons of scat and footprints...the sand provided a lot of exercise for my legs, before we crossed back over the bike/walking path to our car. I tried doing some research...it seems the Cliffie Stone trail leads a long way - over towards Tesoro Park (where we went recently). I wish I was 30 years younger and could take advantage of all of the trails across this valley. I would love to be able to walk and walk and walk, but I know those days are long gone.

From an email today...I again share one of Carri's heartfelt posts. 💕 Please go HERE to listen to Carri's post of "Necessary Clutter". I would also suggest that if you enjoy her post, that you subscribe. She posts about once a month and every one has been worth sharing. Honestly.

This one had me thinking about the way we live our lives in the year 2026 compared to the time I felt the writings had captured. It made me think that it is not about coined terms that lose all meaning in the bustle of today's world. Both Cynthia Lora and Barbara Kingsolver capture a time when memories were built on mere acts of doing, not on intentional creation. The way the quilt stitches fell, the family humor held over generations, or the touching of earth were daily makings, things that just happened to happen...things that were just done. They did not have an official name at the time. I am left to wonder what the babies of today will absorb into their memory banks as they move through days of "wake windows" and "contact naps" or "tummy time"...when every experience has been captured on a camera, a video...a vlog and shared with the world...what will be the things that sink deep into their hearts. What will be their stitches and scents? For they don't have to be 'events' implemented on purpose to provide "core memories", do they? They may well be the life happenings and sensory explorations that fill a heart beyond measure.

My heart was filled with my mother's scent, honeysuckle flowers - sweet for the taking, hot sidewalks on bare feet and grass itching the backs of my knees...the place where my love resides is in the scent of Camp Kinneret, songs of protest and camaraderie that was never named as such.

A reminder in my drawing/journal book, with an added Knot-Bird. Breathe. Hold your peace. Build your own nest.

*A note (as mentioned above)

My friend and her family are suffering through the loss of their beloved daughter, sister granddaughter, mother. Her story is incomplete at this time, but the pain is 100%. If you'd like to donate to her Go Fund Me, you can do so HERE.

Where do you lay your heart?

 

May you take a new path

May you share your heart

May you support those you love

xo

Photos by NAE @pomegranatetrail ©2026

Current History

 

I met a long time friend yesterday. We shared a long lunch, long memories and current thoughts. Laughs, "NO WAY!!" exclamations, frustration, sadness...friendship.

Here is the Heart Tree again and the inspired stencil drawing, all colored in. I discovered there are actually 2 more preprinted pages left. I wonder what will come to them?

There was a fountain outside of the restaurant, where the water sounds, sights soothed.

I was lucky enough to hear that teaching materials I had passed on to her years ago are in full use and adored by the children in her class. Isn't that wonderful?!!

One in particular has inspired me to complete an idea started 21 years ago! Oh my.

I had worked with another friend to make the "Three Little Pigs" pillow sets (one for each of us). The printed story fabric was the inspiration. Each pillow used this fabric, along with speciality fabrics (brick, sticks, straw etc.) to create 'story pillows'. We made a fourth pillow inspired by the book The Fourth Little Pig by Teresa Celsi. 

Why of course there needed to be a fourth pig then...a Female pig! So we made her a stone/rock house. But, I never did make HER. So, I've begun the process to do so. My general plan is to use the green pig #3 above as a base, making new overalls/hat to adhere to her. We'll see. Each pig and the wolf are made by fusing the printed cloth image to Warm & Natural Batting. At the time I thought the figures could be used with the pillows or a flannel board story set. 

In searching for batting and appropriate fabric, I came across so many fabric memories. This small wall hanging was made by the pillow making friend as a goodby gift when I left that school. The back is off white fabric with stars, signed with loving messages from my co-workers of long ago, some of whom I am still friends with after all of these years. She had added tiny charms that pertained to me and our time together (a spider web & spider, a sun, a moon, bare feet and 3 feathers). I smiled that she'd included bare feet and of course, I love the feathers most of all. Again, "lucky" comes to mind. 

I was never much of a 'fountain' person, until I discovered the one near the bridge. I more often craved natural water...rivers, lakes, ocean. But, recently I've also been drawn to the movement, bubbling sounds and clarity of these city fountains...even dipping my hand in to be carried away, if only in my head.

I also found this old 'sampler'...created in my first Jude Hill class, "Whispering Hearts". This was back when I'd just started this blog and I posted a tiny mention of that HERE. I revisited that stars & moon pillowcase again today too. Ha. 

There was a lot about this cloth that I'd forgotten, but the parts I remembered have been very deeply engrained into my spirit. I can see that I was in process of adding 'wings' to one of the hearts and I had forgotten that I'd added 'power' to this cloth. I've left it out to work on it some more.

Both...both of these cloths have resurfaced at just the right time. I really needed them right now.

🩶 🩶 🩶 🩶 🩶

How can you accept in, even welcome in what is needed?

 

May you look at the old with current eyes

May you dip your hand in

May you open your heart to yourself

xo

Photos by NAE @pomegranatetrail ©2025 

#goodenough

more love

 

Sky Heart ~ 2/16/2024

LINK

"...people who love each other, can adapt to anything" ~ Melinda Coombs

~~~~~~

I Save My Love

BY MARJORIE SAISER

I save my love for what is close,

for the dog's eyes, the depths of brown

when I take a wet cloth to them

to wash his face. I save my love

for the smell of coffee at The Mill,

the roasted near-burn of it, especially

the remnant that stays later

in the fibers of my coat. I save my love

for what stays. The white puff

my breath makes when I stand

at night on my doorstep.

That mist doesn't last, evaporates

like your car turning the corner,

you at the wheel, waving.

Your hand a quick tremble in a

brief illumination. Palm and fingers.

Your face toward me. You had

turned on the over-head light so I would

see you for an instant, see you waving,

see you gone.

Poem copyright ©2019 by Marjorie Saiser, "I Save My Love," from Learning to Swim, (Stephen F. Austin State University Press, 2019). Poem reprinted by permission of Marjorie Saiser and the publisher.

CREDIT LINK

A Love Story: The Blind Woodsman

LINK

May you find love in many places

May your love grow and continue

May your love include yourself

xo

Photos by NAE @pomegranatetrail ©2024

Short, Green and Sweet

   ~~~~~ 🌳~~~~~

🙂 Out we went today! 🙂

When we went out today, on a trail that runs inland from near The 5 Freeway...

it was so green. My favorite time of year for getting out.

There were several cars in the lot and we saw a few pairs or groups of folks go past us & into the hills...walking with more agility than we were. Youth.

The trail (well the part we did) was fairly flat, easy...the dirt/sand soft beneath our feet.

There were lots of downed trees...fallen, and then cut up...burned, some many years back...

Other trees and bushes were blooming like crazy!

It sure feels like Spring!

We saw scrub jay hopping around on a branch and a red tail hawk on our way out.

We are so lucky!

May you hike

May you pause

May you appreciate

xo

Photos by NAE @pomegranatetrail ©2023

A Day of Hearts

 

❤️ ❤️

The boys, who make everyday Valentine's Day!

❤️.  🧡.  💛

A pile of hearts sent in the mail

to a friend, so dear who I know 

so well

💚.  💙.  💜

I read this book on my lunch breaks, one or two, maybe three poems

here and there, most days

This one really spoke to me, especially ~ 

scars of laughter (not just pain) ~ what a great thought

And the comparison of an aged face as beautiful as Sedona

2009 we traveled to Sedona, indeed a magical place 

with colors so striking one never forgets them

Beauty in aging and laughter with a dear friend remembered

💗.    🤎.  🤍.  🖤.  💗. 

I wrote this beautiful poem on an old watercolored paper

A piece that I've had since I worked with school-age children in the late 1990's!

It began as an 12X18 sheet and has slowly, very slowly been used for various projects all of these years. The last one was a 6-7 inch heart held for a photo in the first Spring of the pandemic.

I started to write out the poem on that heart, but judged the size of print for the space incorrectly.

Now, what to do?

          None of this part of the post is all that important. I just really like the solution brainstorming,                    so thought I'd record it.  Anyway, it then occurred to me to try again on half a heart.

          So, with a little trimming and a lot of focus, I ended up with the beautiful poem on half a heart,                 to share with my friend, who always holds my whole heart!

❤️

 I wish I could send each of you this beautiful book, each packaged filled with a sprinkling of confetti hearts like I made here.

Note to self: Watercolor another piece of paper, you got your money's worth out of this one!

❤️

Lastly, someone questioned me the other day, about those X's and O's that mean Kiss & Hug.

I use them freely and frequently, but I never thought too much about the origin and deeper meaning...

and I never quite remember which is the kiss and which is the hug, but I use them together, so that has never really mattered. Ha.

Anyway, I found this interesting read.

LINK

Today my shirt has hearts and states "Love is the answer"

❤️

If it is hard to read my writing for the poem, you can read it more clearly HERE

May your everydays be filled with heart, with love, with lines of laughter

xo

Photographs by NAE ©2022

TOO MUCH: Weary, Faith, Hope, Change and #littleman

NOTE~ Yes, I know this is a lot of photographs.  It is my way of telling this story.

Yes, I know this is a depressing story, but it is mine of late and it is also my blog.

You may go away now if this is not of interest to you.

(I say with understanding and kindness, as I get it)

This is me having to get this off my chest in one way I know how.

I have always said, and will repeat:

I treasure each and every one of my blogland peeps.

You guys are true, salt-of-the-earth people.

You engage, challenge, and lift me in ways you may never fully know.

You accept and love me in ways I deeply appreciate.

So, thank you for all of that.

Carry on.

↔

                                        

Mavis Staples ft. Ben Harper - Change                

Hazel's comment on a recent post of mine...

Michelle's use of the word 'weary'...

Saskia's return... 

Liz and Jude...going...

Mo's providing Moon beauty...

~all prompts for me to record some of my own recent feelings, as best I can~

They are not pretty

Daily drive, landfill on the left

Pretty good shape!

3 Turtles keep me company

There is a little two year old at work who has been discovering

too much.

Sometimes it is water or soap.  Sometimes it is a particular kind of toy or sand.

Sometimes it is the noises around him.

"Too Much!" he says.

I agree.

There is too much politics, unrest, unkindness, illness, arguing, 

bitterness, threats of violence and violence itself.

There is too much imbalance of powers, poverty, homelessness,

Too Much cages and babies taken from their families.

Too many lost or broken or both.

Too much negative.

Too much heavy.

Too much change, of not the good kind.

↔

I tried to sleep and this phrase keep popping into my head:

frying pan, frying pan

little man in a frying pan

burn his feet, ain't that neat?

falls to seat, ain't that fun?

little man can't even run

I even drew #littleman

My heart breaks for the #littleman, trying to survive, trying to get by.

There are too many stories...

in the news, from those I know...deep in hearts (mine included).

(I drew that too)

Barely able to see the story patches, I've been wearing lately.

The weight is astounding.

↔

I keep looking for the light.

I'm usually pretty good at finding slivers of light.

Teeny glimmers are all that have appeared.

A couple of work changes, reversed - improved upon...

a cause for guarded relief and begrudged gratefulness.

This song above, heard on my commute, 

a slice of rebellious, stomping foot in place calling out ENOUGH.

Demanding CHANGE! (The good kind of course!)

Nice trees, work car?

↔

Sometimes I consider that I could drive a different, 

less in your face route to work.

But, I would not forget all  #somefolks are still out there, 

with me just on a less upsetting road.

If this was the only 'news', maybe I would consider that.

But, to me it is merely a sign of these times.

There is so, so much more.

These non-mobile mobile homes are filled with men, women, pet dogs

bicycles, ATVs, dirt, dust and grime.

Broken bits of furniture, car parts and trash.

They have folks that sweep the sidewalk or don't, 

work on their vehicles and go off for the day (to work?)

There are tarps.  Lots of tarps that cover the roofs, broken windows 

(there seems to be lots of those too) and spaces between their home 

and a nearby wall or fence (AKA shade tarps).

This is but one short stretch of road where the mobile live.

↔

In my car, my own home away from home, on my lunch break 

I manage to sort bags of buttons.

Dividing my collection by about half.  

Because who needs so many buttons anyway? 

I sort and search.

I seek to find.

I haven't been weaving or stitching the past few weeks.

Or letter writing, although I've got a mental list going for that!

I make life decisions phone calls from my car.

The kind of phone calls no one really likes to make.

↔

Then I make the return trip.

↔

At night, in bed I read little novels. 

Escape books, for enjoyment and to get tired enough and to ward off dreams.

I've read some fair, good or great books. 

I'll read BURN next.  I am part way through A MAN CALLED OVE.

I have finished the others and they are back at the library, 

so someone else may enjoy them.

CALLING MAJOR TOM was a fun one to read with all the celebratory remembering of the Moon Landing going on right now.  He actually is on his way to Mars, but there is lots of Space Oddity tie-ins and such!  BRITT-MARIE WAS HERE and A MAN CALLED OVE are both by the author whose book I read first: MY GRANDMOTHER TOLD ME TO TELL YOU SHE'S SORRY.  He has a very unique way of phrasing and word choice.  One of those authors I find myself thinking in their style. 

↔

I try to stay off the news these days.

I return to continue and/or consider FB and it's vile owners/operators. 

I try to let the unkind comments and some of the stories go.

I would love to walk again, but the air quality and my asthma say "NO WAY!"

I look for new tools in this old toolbox.

(toolbox below!)

TV game shows in the toolbox!

 ↔

And, as you guys know, 

I guess I wouldn't be me if I didn't keep trying to circle back around 

to some kind of light and love.

It'll get easier.

It always does.

It's just taking a while this time.

Work parking lot heart leaf!

↔

May you get through your hard times,

enjoy your better times and

try to always remember love.

xo 
Photographs by NAE ©2019