Writing exercises 11/30/06

No one can escape the ravages of love or a broken heart.
Time heals but the scars and wounds linger long after the aching ceases.
Just as a wart on the foot will wear down and fade the shadow of aching remains.

Under the shadow of pecan trees we sat huddled against the chill of an early December frost. We squinted against the afternoon sun, the plaids and shadow less multitude of fall colors blending. We did not recognize that this photo would be the last one of our family together. Dad’s last birthday. My two-year-old daughter sat in my lap, her pink leggings brighter than all the other dull colors. Perhaps we would have lingered longer, not made so many excuses for leaving, running back to bigger commitments, more important events than our family being together. Perhaps we would not have been so quick to let go of the foothold of family. We cannot escape the fate of our actions nor turn back time. We can only remember the moment of family through a photograph of mine.

Mother of God

Mold lingers on her face and along the folds of blue, the shadows of her robes. Her feet blister and peel away layers of white flecks, revealing dull cement gray. Time washes away her beauty along with silent prayers. Ave Maria. Gone are the hands that cared for her beauty.