Ice Flows

Posted on February 2, 2015 by mariehughes1971

Sometimes I am struck by the beauty of this place and sometimes I struggle with how cold it is.

Black charred stumps against red rock cliffs, tattered blankets of snow. River running, churning through and under thick ice creating ever-changing patterns

Downstream

remnants of warmer days seeping into cracks and fissures, infusing with a green hue.

I watch the brown grasses undulating in the breeze and I am sure I can see the hand of God.

“In winter I don’t think there is much that is more beautiful than these golden brown grasses,” I share with the 12-year-old, pausing to look at them this day, humbly bowing with snow along their spines.

Humph.

She is unimpressed.

“You are spec- al. Your Jay!” Reads the well-worn plate beneath a bowl of Lucky Charms: 6 year-old Scarlett’s birthday breakfast.

Panda dress on with bright pink bow in her hair.

” I look pretty,” she declares examining herself in the mirror.

A simple, sweet recognition that I had never heard her utter.

Off to school with 18 mini blueberry muffins passed to her kindergarten pals and then the sharing of treasure box spoils with “The Birthday Girl”.

“I got six rings!” she exclaimed with delight.

At home with her cheetah painted face and friends: two puppies, one butterfly, one fish running, giggling, blowing out candles all 6 atop her puppy cake.

Did she remember to make a wish?

Just now, I wonder this.

And then Ever so quietly it crept upon us. Stealthily, sneaking, I didn’t know the danger was there until it was gone. Scarlett and I for a moment, a mere moment were together where almost, Almost a severe accident occurred. The result would have brought serious injury or death to her. It didn’t happen. It didn’t happen. But it could have, might have. But it didn’t.

And then just like that, the evening unfolded for our family:

Off to see “Paddington”,

home for ice cream and sharing moments of the day She was Born.

Scarlett curled in my lap, mama arms wound tightly around her little 6-year-old self.

“Moments are the molecules that make up eternity” (Neal A. Maxwell)

And they are. Good and bad, for better and for worse.These moments, bringing joy and sadness, sadness and joy again and again and again

Round the circle we go.

“I just wanted to be happy” shared a friend amidst her prolonged unhappiness.

How we all seek

and yet it escapes the best and worst of us in dark and pleasant places.

Happiness.

Joy.

So bound and so intricately connected to the very fibers and sinews of sorrow and pain. Round and round we go on this exquisitely beautiful, Dreadful wheel.

Crazy.It seems.

And I am struck by the beauty and the cold of this place.

Inseparable.

One.

Struck by the beauty and the cold of this place.

Trail Find

Posted on May 16, 2014 by mariehughes1971

I love my solo time in the mountains. Last Saturday I discovered new trails in an area I have frequented for many years. One moment I did not know of their existence and in the next a whole new view and adventure opened up for me. Funny how so many things in life go like that.

Alone on mountain trails, my feet and mind strive to keep pace together:

I run beside a flowing creek and into shady hollows where thick ice still covers stream beds straining to trickle underneath. I scatter eight doe through the forest: The husband. He is there and I am here. For this gift of time alone I am grateful to him. Golden meadow grass heavy with frost does not escape my eye: the kids all six, one by one pass in and through me.

Between pines brushing my arms and head I go: good friends I have.Some will return with me to these trails another day. Over wooden bridges slick with the morning frost, over rocks and twisting roots: the boyfriend of the 22 year old, happy for her, grateful for him. Up a hillside into a clearing bordered by aspen groves, pine stands and a glorious blue sky bring my feet to pause, to turn, to take it all in: the joys and challenges of my life, how might I do better.

I come to an inclined ridge with no end in sight. Through the curve and bend of pine boughs I see sunshine and blue skies ahead. In this I find hope and a desire to carry on. And I love a challenge: getting to the top, to the “end of the trail” so up this ridge I go and go and go. A view of the beyond and many moments to bathe in warm, glorious sunlight is my reward at the top. Instinctively and just as naturally as my breathing itself I find myself praying with a depth and earnestness that does not come in all my prayers. Its weight and its strength is nourishing to my soul. All these people along my trail, they pass through my heart and mind again. Silent whispers of gratitude, pleas of help and hope and faith.

I love to solo on mountain trails and on this day I found new trails, new adventures and new-found peace.

Once.

And again.

We Can Even Paint a Rainbow

Posted on April 18, 2014 by mariehughes1971

It was a day that I didn’t feel like painting.

Most days I don’t feel like painting.

I had Things To Do when the five-year-old brought forth her query.

Things.

“Will you paint with Me?”

THINGS

TO DO.

I am not an artist.

My hands, my mind–they are so far removed from such activity that I simply thought and said:

No, no I don’t want to paint. You paint.

And besides, I had no idea of:

What to paint.

I fear there was fear behind this fear.

Seriously?

Painting with my preschooler!

But

These

Things.

Thankfully, my heart said yes.

And so I did.

Contiguous streams of happy chatter flowed from her rosebud lips:

Ohh, I love that!

What is that?

I really like how you did that flower.

An occasional,

Oops!

Oh no! I messed up.

Then carrying on with sheer delight.

I was amazed when I made up my mind and heart to sit,

to sit and let go of the Things, that everything just flowed.

From the deliberateness of my choosing colors

to thoughts of spring–

still fairly far removed in my arctic world,

then on to the beauties of summer.

The ease of my brush strokes across the paper:

mixing, blending, combining into No, no not a Van Gogh to be sure,

but a Marie.

Let’s paint another one together!

said the five-year-old.

And so we did.

When it looked as though our masterpiece was complete she exclaimed,

“We can even paint a rainbow!”

Atop our swirls of clouds and sky,

sandwiched between the edge of the paper

and our free-flowing tree and flower designs

we put forth turquoise, fuchsia, pink, yellow, lime green, and scarlet:

a glorious rainbow indeed.

Now let’s sign it Mom and Me.

And so we did.

Boy Wonder

Posted on March 19, 2014 by mariehughes1971

A view.

These bonds we have.

They run deeper than you know.

Tying us up tight,

arms wound ’round flesh and bones.

But gaps there are.

Try as I might

to hold on,

down and out you wriggle

and giggle

looking back only once

before the flapping begins.

Up you go

Boy wonder.

Where and when

may I ask,

did you get those wings?

Squinting into the sun

I see your feet

dangling,

black cutouts against the sky.

Feathers come

and your laughter

trailing on the wind,

swirling together

around my head.

The feathers,

I gather.

One.

Two.

Then fistfuls,

brushing them against my cheek and forearm.

What to do with them? :

Glue

them

to

the

wall.

Now and then

I will pluck one off

and say:

Oh look!

Would you look at this one?

This was when

he had chicken pox.

Everywhere oozing.

Swollen eyes.

Nose too–

draining into his mouth.

Poor little thing!

I go back for the laughter,

cupping it like

lightning bugs in my hand,

pouring it inside a great big dusty seashell.

Listen.

What can you hear?

No.

No it’s not the ocean.

It’s his laughter.

Now let me have a turn.

I look once more,

up and out into the blue.

Boy wonder on a cloud!

How many times have I told you?

No.

You can’t stand on a cloud,

you can’t sit on a cloud,

you can’t sleep on a cloud.

It’s like walking through a mist

my boy,

seeping through your nostrils.

But.

what.

do.

I. Know?

Step right up ladies and gentleman!

Boy wonder:

Asleep on a cloud!

Shh…

you’ll wake him.

Too late,

for there he goes:

down

into one of those dark green forests

with mossy stones and

black-eyed does who look your way

in alarm.

As they should.

But you pay them no mind

for you are running.

Running fast with strength and hope

of what you know not.

To where

God only knows.

: And yet another view.

You.

Posted on February 28, 2014 by mariehughes1971

There’s no blueprint for You my love.
Even I
could draw a bird, or a flower, or a tree or a _
But

not of You.

No one knew

the curve of those lips
or
how stars would splash across your face
in an array
No one,

not One
in a zillion

years

could have sketched

Just
So.
Or how that hair
golden flax
jet black
would
fall down your
shoulders

Across the curve of your spine

with my finger

I did draw

C-A-T

touching

the nubs of

Your spine.

-?-

Yes,

You got it:

CAT!

There’s no blueprint for You my love.

Those eyes

that challenge me, dare me, want me.

Your laugh.

Always.

Always it makes me smile

Or laugh too.

And You–
How high You can jump.
So high

with joy
of the purest intent.

How You jump.

And how

You fall.

So red.

Running
down my fingertips

dripping
into the creases of my palm.
Your blood.

There

On my skin.
How far You can fall.

But I’ve seen You climb

Up

and

Out

into those tree branches

twisting and curving
even snapping
with your foot.

Get me down.
no.
You got up there.
You get down.
You.

There’s no blueprint for You my love

that infectious goodness seeping
from your pores:

melting its way out from You

into me,

into everyone.

There’s no blueprint for You my love:

No.

Not for You

My Love.

Christmas Presence

Posted on December 17, 2013 by mariehughes1971

Day 1

On the 1st day of Christmas the 4-year-old and I snagged the last of the $1.49

advent calendars from King Soopers.

She and her siblings–

the 17-year-old too

are counting down ’til Christmas

eating those little, waxy embossed squares of well–

absolutely no temptation there for me.

Day 7

We stood at our traditional, chilled spot of road

near the almost -never- has- a- line post office

to watch the bighearted, small town Conifer Christmas Parade.

That evening the 8-year-old was an angel in the Nativity play

and we had a happy 4-year-old lamb crawling

oh so rapidly across the stage to get a peek at the baby Jesus.

Day 9

The 17-year-old and I had a moment.

His eyes opened to real despair.

We labored side by side,

and I observed how boldly

though not fearless,

because it was hard,

he went forth in service

more like a man–

a good man

than a boy.

Day 11

At the middle school band concert

We listened to the 11-year-old

play “Jingle Bells Christmas Around the World”:

Never a more “I take this job very seriously” and proud clarinet player there be.

Day 13

“Let’s sing Christmas songs!”

Is what the 4-year-old wanted to do as we drove

to pick up the dad from DIA.

I broke into a “Silent Night” serenade.

Nope.

“Hark the Herald Angels Sing?”

No.

Certainly “Away in a Manger.”

No. She would have none of them.

No “church songs.”

So merrily, merrily along our way we did sing

“Frosty,” “Rudolph” and “Jingle Bells”

to her delight and mine.

Day 16, 17, 18

Today or tomorrow or the next day our family will cut a tree from our yard.

I hope it will be strong and sturdy

and not Charlie brown-like as these

fresh mountain trees–

idyllic as they may seem

are often wont to be.

Day 21,22,23

We will wait for the college kids to come home to adorn this tree.

We will make Cardamom bread: the most aromatic in all the world

and paint sugar cookie stars, and bells and trees

with yellow, green, red, blue egg wash,

thick and runny,

and oh so pretty.

Day 24

We will have our Christmas Eve reading of Luke.

Serious and silly like the kids all 6 will become Mary and Joseph and baby doll Jesus.

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