Momentous Tids and Bits

This neighbour, who plows my garden every fall and does the first till every spring 

laid his wife of 42 years, to rest on Saturday.

"The verse that keeps coming to my heart for him", I remarked to Victoria on our way home from the funeral visitation last week (as we both were struck by his utterly bereaved countenance)

 is,'Blessed are those who mourn' "

Here is a man who took care of his suffering/bed-ridden wife for many years!

yet even so, death came unexpectedly...

(This was the 2nd Saturday in a row that I attended a funeral at the church of my childhood.
plus a few visitations during the week...
a sign that I'm getting older and nearer to the 'outer ripples' of this generation?:)

....then there was Canada Day...already again!

A year beginning to feel a little like a firework fizzle...flare and fade!

...or like a sun-sparkle on sea and sand; we stare amazed, reach but can never grasp

its shimmer through our fingers!

Ah, ache we cannot quell where well we know what moments mete

The breaking and the binding of its swell like fields of wheat

Where seasons sprout; the clout of teeny tick by tock supreme

Whilst death reminds us to regard moments with high esteem

Ah, beauty meets the eye and poets sigh and farmers grin

For seed begets the fruit where soon the harvest will begin

The quest for satisfaction a thirst nothing can fulfill

Unless we recognize the prize that moments cup and spill

Ah, tender troubadour, you tease us with your give and take

Meandering through gardens weaving echoes in your wake

Where we cannot afford to miss one glorious syllable

Of summer’s silver-speckled sea-song’s ‘so-long canticle’

We grasp and clasp dawn’s fading flow’r; a wonder full of woes

Dismantles moments of an hour like petals from a rose

The sway of night to day murmurs summer’s sweet green to gold

Compelling us to look closer at moments in our hold

Ah, happiness, to find you is no secret if we see

That you are here and now; not an elusive destiny 

The laughter of a child, a garden flower-wild, a brook

A you-and-me that makes the 'we', we dare not overlook

© Janet Martin

One of the little guys I babysit was delighted when I told him he may pick the green grapes to put in his loader because first-year vines need to put all their energy into the plant!