Regular readers will also know that it is now more
than three years since an MRI scan revealed a growth in my prostate. A biopsy revealed it was cancerous. However, the cancer was diagnosed
as non-aggressive and regular hormone therapy continues (so far) to keep it
from becoming so. Meanwhile, I can only
do what I have done since early childhood and trust nature to do its best by me.
I take great pleasure and reassurance from gentle
strolls on nearby Hampstead Heath; its quiet grassy slopes and lively pockets
of trees; signs and sounds of the seasons as they come and go; glittering ponds
alive with the chatter of ducks, swans, and moorhens...
Since I
came to live in the Kentish Town area of London nearly 30 years ago, I have often
gone to the Heath with a view to letting its sensual beauty invade my senses,
experience that ‘Oh, but it’s so good to be alive!’ feeling with which Earth
Mother has sustained me through just about every crisis in my life; even when I
attempted suicide during an extended period of severe mental breakdown some 30
years ago, she brought me back from the brink.
My late
mother used to urge me to ‘listen for, watch and learn from nature.’ Moreover,
‘Far better,’ she’d say. ‘...to retreat into nature than into yourself.’ That
was many years ago and her words ring as true to me now (at 68) as they did
when I was a child.
In the
language of flowers, the yellow rose is for remembrance. (See also my poem, The Zen of Yellow Roses) Yes, I often look back at happier times
in my life and those who made it so, and feel inspired to make the most of each
day left to me rather than nurse regrets for what might have been…
This poem
is a villanelle.
IN PRAISE
OF LACEWORK
Go where
the wind blows
(across
time and space)
fair petals
of a yellow rose
See how
each cloud shows
a
non-judgmental face;
go where
the wind blows
Be as the
fallen seed grows
risen to
beauty and grace,
fair petals
of a yellow rose
See how Earth
Mother sews
dreams
into wintry lace;
go where
the wind blows
Ghosts of
a time that knows
and keeps
safe our place,
fair petals
of a yellow rose
Hear a
lark in its last throes,
pass on
its plea for peace;
go where
the wind blows
fair
petals of a yellow rose
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2009
Labels: dreams, free spirits, ghosts, human nature, human spirit, life, love, memories, mind-body-spirit, nature, past-present-future, peace, poetry, posthumous consciousness, relationships, remembrance, roses, time
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