| (Copyright) by James Steinle (Swanville, Minnesota) |
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(Fiction) LEAVING HOME What feelings enter the heart as the time comes for leaving the parental home. Tears are coursing down the cheeks of my mother and an obvious lump of emotion is in the throat of my father as they stand in the open door of their home. I have already started on my way down the lane towards that big, exciting world that stretches open before me. I decided earlier this spring, the time has come to try out my own wings; to break the ties with my childhood. My throat is too tight to utter a sound as I realize what I am leaving behind. Security. Family meals, made all the more tasty with hearty laughter. The quiet moments sitting around the fire. Turning to look back, I watch as they return my wave. We had to put a rope around our old collie dog to keep him from coming after me. His questioning bark comes to me through the soft air as I turn once again down the lane. I dare not look back. Now, years later, I can look back on those events that happened almost 40 years ago and remember the emotions I felt and the things I saw. I remember the sun was shining brightly in the fresh spring air with bluebells nodding in the grass. A wren was sending out it’s trilling song in front of the white painted birdhouse I had made when I was thirteen. Pleasant gurgling sounds were coming from the small stream that wound its way close by the lane. It was a glorious day! I recall a sense of excitement was running through me that I had never felt before or have felt since. I felt like yelling “Make way world!” I was twenty years old! I knew I had become a man. Responsible for my own self! Many seasons have passed since that time I walked down the long grassy lane to become a man. My parents passed away some years ago and now lie buried next to each other under the rich earth of the valley. I appreciated the many principles they taught me. My steps through life would often circle back to the home place for a rewarding visit. Sitting on the porch, we would go over old times or discuss which crops my father should plant the next year. Now, as my wife and I stand in the door of our home looking out at our own son, I feel emotions my father must have felt. Loneliness and loss, but liberally mixed in, a sense of pride as my son grasps my hand tightly. The sky has not changed its deep blue and the spring birds are again singing their lilting melodies. The bluebells are nodding in the warm breeze as they did those many years before. And that familiar lump is in my throat as this time, I watch MY son turn around for that last wave as he walks down the long, grassy lane towards his own manhood. A WOMAN What a beautiful creation is a woman! I love to watch the sparkle that can emanate from her eyes. The sparkle and shine of life itself! I love to watch that real heartfelt and joyful smile, when she sees her husband coming home from the days work. My thoughts dwell on what she is ready to do for the man she loves. Ready to bear his children. Ready to treat him as a king. Ready to comfort. Ready to listen. Ready to please. Looking her best, with shiny hair well done. With a smile in her eyes and upon her honeyed lips, she is ready to take him in her arms. Ready to walk side by side through the years of their lives. Ready to suffer when he suffers and to rejoice when he rejoices. Ready to forgive. Ready to forget. Ready to put her man first beyond her own desires. A queenly woman is this, one of the jewels of the Mighty One’s creation. A woman to live with. A woman to love with. a woman to be by your side. A woman to make you do your best. MARRIAGE! What joy! What happiness! What excitement the thought of marriage brings! What a paradox that weddings at first seem so far off yet rush to quickly to the date. A bride to be, how flushed and beautiful and full of life! Hearts are full of exploding effervescence as though as a bottle of exquisite French Champagne. What joy shines out of sparkling eyes, so full of laughter and hidden mystery. Bride and groom, looking forward to spending a lifetime together. Looking forward to growing in loving and righteous character as the years roll on. Learning of love, patience and tenderness. Walking side by side, through the valleys and shaded glens. Through the thorny thickets and the scented gardens. Upon the flowered alpine pastures and across rocky slopes. The man being a leader and a strength to the woman, and the woman being a helpmeet to the man. Knowing their ultimate destiny and desiring each other to attain it. And each giving help to the other as they cross the thorny, rocky places in the pathways of their lives. And each being there to share the joy when the stars are shining bright. EVENING Ah, yes, t’is that time of the evening now; The hot steaming sun has slipped below the horizon, purple shadows are stealing out from the grove. How quiet it is now. The chores are done; the cows are all in their stalls and the chickens have settled down. T’is comfortable here on the porch. I think everyone should have one. Already the air has begun to cool and the evening scents are rising. I pull out the other chair as my good wife comes out to join me. Neither of us say anything; no need to as the communication is there as she puts her hand in mine. Together we watch the gathering darkness. I give a silent thanks to my Creator for this helpmeet He has given me. A strong, warm, loyal woman if ever there was one; raised a fine batch of children she did. They’re all grown now and have families of their own. Sure is fine to have the grandchildren come out. Chips off the old block they are! Stars are coming out quite heavy now. That old hoot owl out in the grove sure is letting us know he’s around. B’out time we settle in now. It’s getting late and the morning comes early. SNOWFALL IN THE DEEP WOODS The gentle, caressing, snowflakes glided down to touch the earth in the deep velvety woods. All around it is deathly quiet. Only the whispering wind through the branches of the ghostly trees can be heard. A snowy owl goes gliding silently overhead and disappears into the woods, leaving you with the impression that you did not really see it at all, but only sensed it was there for a second. The soft snow muffles your footsteps as you slowly make your way through the woods. Your tracks soon become obliterated by the constantly falling snow. As you pass under a snow laden branch, some falls off and goes down your neck; but it does feel delightfully cold. You can see the lights of your home now, as you slowly trudge through the deepening snow and the darkening woods. THOSE POETS OF YORE From when I was small, poetry was dear, Transposing me across time and years beyond years. Expanding my horizons and broadening my mind, Giving me a view of fields not mine. Capturing for all, times and places, sunrises, sunsets, Poets capturing everything that their hearts will let. Keeping for us those things they felt, From many miles away and from centuries before. Allowing us to know of the days of yore. THE WORLD BELOW Silently I slide through the bluegreen sea With a flip of my fins the silky water parts around me. Gently it upholds the weight of my form, As the seaweed waves below me like a field of corn. Sunlit rays slice golden through a wind ruffled sea. Burrowing into the depths as though in an effort to flee. As the birds of the air have the freedom to soar, So the sea allows to me the freedom to do more. To move to and fro or to hang with head down. Or to spin in a circle and go around and around. To let the waves wash over me as though to a rhythmic musical score. To allow the all-enveloping silence to refresh me to the core. DANDELION FLUFF Let it tickle your nose, that white piece of fluff; So quickly it flows upon the merest hint of a breeze, To yonder it goes with each little puff. I strain to keep it in sight as it disappears into space; I suppose the next time I see it, t’will be at my neighbor’s place. AN APPLE TREE IN BLOSSOM Standing in the early morning sun, Its torso shrouded in white, As though a bride. Standing alone…waiting… As though with glowing face, Waiting for her husband to arrive. Standing in beautiful blossoming array, Wrapped in scented pure white petals it stands on the hill… Waiting in the golden light of dawn. Softly cupped white petals, More pure than the cleanest snow Surrounds its graceful limbs. Within each blossom Yellow stamens add an air of excitement, An aura of love. Pinkish buds yet unopened Give to it a blushing beauty And a sense of loveliness As of a shy young maid. What glory and honor it brings to that Artist who created it, Bringing out springtime after springtime The message of hope and renewal. What blessings from my Mighty One are reflected in the annual gown of shimmering beauty Found in a blossoming apple tree. THE ZEPHYR Aye, I am a wandering zephyr, a wayfaring breeze. I come and I go, and I do what I please. Sailing across bright meadows and turning down paths, I explore and I wander to see what each has. Walking just ahead of me is a flaxen haired young maid, and with tresses so golden, she is a pleasure to see. I ruffle her hair so that the curls fly free. Catching her quick smile I pass on by, to where the wild flowers grow, to hear them say “Hi!”. I watch them nod on their stems, acknowledging my presence while they converse with their friends. I slide quickly by and before me I see, a tree reaching skyward, so I decide to climb high. Up through the treetops I move through the leaves. I can hear them murmuring together; they sound well pleased. I can hear them ask each other, “Did you catch the name of that breeze?” “No,” they answer each one to the other, “For so quickly it was here, then had passed on further.” I have no time to stay and chat, for I am too independent and just too busy for that. Beyond the next hill and across the green vale, hide many things I must see, including the young quail. How much they have grown since last I passed by. And look how they freeze as their mother sees, the red tailed hawk riding aloft on the breeze. Aye, my duties lie before me, so I must hasten on. To ruffle a curl and cool a brow, to ripple the water as only I know how. To make goldenrod dance, and the wheat field sway, as in wave after wave they acknowledge my way. Aye, I am a wandering zephyr, a wayfaring breeze. I come and I go, and I do what I please. ITS MORNING! What a way to get up in the morning! Its yet still dark, but the sun is a ‘borning. The mourning doves are stirring, My kitten is purring. The old clock is chiming a quarter to. I say to myself, rise up you lazy fellow! Don’t get too mellow… The sun is starting to shine, it’s color quite yellow. All I have to do is put my feet on the floor, Put on my clothes and just head out the door. The birds are all aflutter, They are excited about the day. I breath in the air and smell fresh mowen hay. I love the cluck of chickens and the roosters when they crow; To me, that makes the morning, and makes me feel aglow. IN HONOR TO WIDOWS What life you have experienced, you women of years. What trials and tribulations, with many shed tears. What stories you could tell us, if only we would stop to hear. Of trials and of victories, of death and of fears. You can tell us of the God who has helped you, And who showed you His ways through the years. You can teach the maids who follow, what it is that a man desires. You can teach her to be honorable, to be humble and be wise. How to raise her children, and how to make good buys. How to make her house a home, and how to make a meal out of a tough old soup bone. There are many things those gray heads contain, So do not be silent or refrain, from passing on your wisdom, To those who follow in your paths. Let your gray hairs be for glory, and may they honor to you bring. MEMORIES What price is a memory? It may have cost you determination; It may have demanded effort too. It may have cost you tears and sorrow, Or hearty laughter from you. Memories are what life consisted of, through the years gone by. Thoughts of humor and bittersweet, of laughter and of strife. So varied are our memories, as we trace back the steps of our life. We think back on the things we did, or did not do. How might we have done things differently, or seized an opportunity or two. How often we let an opportunity, slip by us I fear; of living life to the fullest or cherishing those we hold dear. So if you yet have your life to live, then take this advice, and hold it dear. Live life to the fullest, but lay off that third beer. Let moderation be your motto in everything you do. Take time to smell the flowers, and to watch the sky so blue. Take time to hug your child, and show you care for him too. And don’t forget to discipline, before he gets old enough to say… Don’t you dare, or, don’t get in my way! For otherwise your memories will be bitter and be blue, and you will feel the sting of a heart pierced through. So lay the foundation now, for the memories to follow. Be solid in your character and do not swallow, the bittersweet pills of a life gone to waste. But learn the ways of the Eternal who made us. Incorporate His ways into the problems of this life; and you will find your memories to be without discord or strife. OH GLORIOUS FALL! Oh fall, how I love you! What stupendous displays of flaming reds, crisp yellows, burnt oranges. It’s the fourth of July all over again; starbursts cascading and exploding over the hills and valleys. Pinwheels of iridescence spinning along the silver steams. Sparklers sitting and glowing upon the fences. Leaves having spent their energy go fluttering down to ride slowly away upon the gentle back of the friendly waters below, carried to their final resting place known only to the silent stream. Ask though I would of its final destination, the stream only hurried faster around the bend without stopping to answer. Intent on doing it’s job, it had no time for such pleasantries. Fall is the time for the army of trees to put on their best dress uniforms. To parade in their finery for all to see before throwing off their clothes and girding for battle against the advancing war god of winter. Who can fight and endure a long battle encumbered by heavy layers of clothes? Or to fight without draining the fatness from their body? Maples are among the first to realize the time for battle is near and time is short. Looking splendid in their dress uniforms, they start toughening their muscles to take on the strong, cold, shrieking spear thrusts of the enemy. They will be prepared to laugh in the face of old man winter himself. As swirls of leaves race down the street each leaf chasing after the one in front, they do not see me walking towards them…I stop and watch as they bump against my boots, then pick themselves up and scurry after their comrades who have moved on. I laugh as they act just like a group of grade school children just let out of school. All full of laughter and excitement and eager to get to their play. Fall, what a glorious tribute to the Creator who designed and planned in such detail, this most exhilarating season of the year. Who gave to the air the crispness that makes our blood race with excitement. Draw deep into your lungs that elixir and tonic. Can you not feel life itself surging throughout your body? See how your stride lengthens, and a spring comes into your step. Yes, fall is my favorite time of year. A time to prepare for the winter ahead, to think of pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, and Thanksgiving turkey. A time to experience joy and to sing a song of praise to the Creator who designed it all. |
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