Nana's Pen

In the early morning fog, the formation of geese rises above the Mississippi River taking wing amidst their rhythmic calls of navigation. The wind whispers among the trees. The lush green of the dancing leaves has given way to a pallet of reds, yellows and oranges. In the field, the pumpkin vines are withering as the fruit ripens full and round. On the wall of the garage the anger of the thermometer has been assuaged by the cool breeze. I sit at my desk, glancing at the calendar in a moment of confusion. August 21?

has set silent, lonely. It waits for my muse. Or an assignment. Soon. Very soon.

Faded pages whisper of the woman who bore me. They whisper her heart, her dreams, her cares. I read and strain and caress the whispers.

Among the dusty musty stalls they sit. Once mighty oak, pine, maple. Hand-hewn, hand joined, hand shined. Beyond my will my fingers caress the grain. Warm still full of life. Made to contain possessions now harboring history waiting to be used again.

When wandering through the childhood recollections that populate the archives of my memories, I am astounded at the variety. Some memories are precious and cherished. Others are traumatic and painful. All of them unite and create the unique me. I cannot embrace the pleasant experiences and renounce the grievous episodes for it is only together that they complete my life. Far back nestled in the shadowy corners of my memory, I am still a three-year-old little girl in my great-grandfather’s farmhouse. If you sat me down today in the middle of the house, I probably would not recognize the walls or the rooms or the layout but I know I would still feel the house. My mind sees shadows. I do not know if that is because the house was shadowy. Maybe other memories have darkened this one or maybe my little-girl self was just lost in the shadows of the adults. My parents, my younger brother and I had just come from Germany where the U.S. Air Force had stationed my dad and Jimmy and I were born. W

A ladybug alighted alone on the sand. A heavy heart wandered nearby. The clean tide-washed sand stretched toward the sea; Alone, the ladybug and me. A gentle whisper in my hearts ear Came as I studied the bug. “I made and care for the little bug red, Do I less for you?” He said. Reminded again of Creator’s kind care My spirit eased of its strain. The ladybug mounted aloft on the wind Her destination afar. The cumbersome burden my human heart bore Lifted with her toward the shore.

In my place between wake and slumber exists a platform, a waiting spot for the dream train. Weathered wood planks roughened by time and elements joined by rust crusted square spikes. Wind whispering, stars shining, no covering in sight. Ancient iron tracks stretch from horizon to beyond beckoning the dream train. On a night my mind’s self reposes there, labors, worries, and joys jumbled in thought until I board the dream train.

click the pencil advance the lead make the marks regret the words sigh erase the choices wipe the remains click the pencil advance the lead again and again and again make the marks enjoy the words smile

Gentle lashes Flashing eyes Ready smile Bubbling laugh Busy hands Lightening feet Quick kisses Mischievous tricks Cherished hugs Curious mind Tender heart Precious soul

Spotting my parents in the thousands of faces in the auditorium, I discerned relief rather than pride in their eyes. I winced slightly but tossed my head around in defiance, listening to the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” I caught a glance of Mrs. Hill, my English teacher. I clutched the coveted paper in my hand a little tighter and suppressed the urge to make a nasty gesture at the old bat. For the last couple of months she had berated me daily by scolding, “You’ll never graduate now that you went and married that boy!” I guess I showed her , I thought as my mind jumped to my secret. At that moment, I was glad for the fullness of the graduation gown even though I had not yet begun to show. If any of my teachers or the principal knew about the life that was growing inside me they would have denied me the diploma I had worked so hard to earn. Two weeks before graduation, my friend Barbara had been called out of class and expelled because the school nurse discovered her pregnancy.

In the floor on his belly time yields to fantasy. Childhood envelops universe. Plastic trains become mighty iron horses surging across continents, ferrying masses of tiny soldiers, delivering tinker-toy freight, avoiding disastrous chasms between tile and carpet.

From my back in cool shaded grass Light dances with leaves Steps and twirls to wind’s melody Brilliant patterns in greens and glows against deep blue of sky

I meet with her each morn. As she glides beside me I sense her mood. Some dawns she fumes in fog, others she glistens in glee, yet others she tumbles in turmoil. Time alters my days seldom I see her and then my path leads to her again. She greets me with glory, sunlight dances upon her face. Joy to my soul from her ancient waters.

The wooden screen door thwacked shut and the shouting inside succumbed to the droning chorus of the cicadas. Lydia’s summer-browned bare feet carried her across the searing sun-softened tar. At the end of the street, blacktop yielded to hard nature kilned-clay veiled by powdered sand. The dust cooled her toes. She paused to crouch at the small stagnant pond beside the path. Last summer she would have stretched out on her stomach to watch the tadpoles, crawdads, and water bugs. Not now — even in her over-sized t-shirt she didn’t want to be reminded of her emerging breasts. Stretching her legs, she trekked on. Thoughts tumbled as she passed dry, root-bound tumbleweeds and gnarled mesquite trees. The sharp exchange between her parents pierced her mind as she avoided prickly pear cactus. A skittish black tarantula hastened to her hole, safe from the burning heat. Lydia reached the NO TRESPASSING sign at the base of the earthen dam and climbed past it to the top. She settled on a large roc