A Glimpse of Turqoise

By my mom Jayne

Alone
I sit at my window,
Peering drearily out of my white prison,
Snow, plunders the country side
In pale persistence.
Scantliy clad trees,
Stand bare.
Frigid castaways,
In natures realm.
Pearl frosted meadows,
Iced,
raw,
Monopolize the landscape.
Stillness lingers,
not peaceful...but uneasy.
My ears strain at it's grip,
pulsating,
My eyes grow weary seeking release,
from the bleak, stark world of winter
Suddenly....
I see something!
a small dot of blue,
a glimpse of turqoise,
curious, I look closer,
an old lawn chair, disgarded...
twisted
weatherwarn metal, secured,
Solitarily braced against a tree,
Etched in rust, it's
Burdened with snow.
Regarding this,
My thoughts fall back to years ago.
I think of Duchess, mu old dog.
Pink patches of skin perforated her
beautiful coat.
Time carved it's mark upon her beauty,
but we loved her.
The chair, by contrast, was once
beautiful.
and needed.
What memories linger there?
A fleeting moment in time
scaling the subconscience,
nudging the heart,
Flexing emotions,
Revelie of the mind....then gone.
Humbly.
Now, cast out...it still stands
supremely frozen to the ground.
Upon it's seat...a childs toy bucket,
secured by ice,
Support past dreams
of sandy beaches,
Wiggly poly-wogs,
a world full of flower scents,
Brilliant gardens splashed across the hills.
Hot summer days.
Ringing in laughter.
Barefoot children running zig-zag
patterns thru wet grass.
Purple, pink-chipped evenings
melting into night.
Now, blooming in starkness,
As a gem in nature's court,
this blue dot,
this spec on earths giant face,
Left to the elements,
Brings me joy!
Renovates my mind of fullness,
Massages the ragged edges of
boredom into peace.
This drop of color on winter's spread,
Punctuates the long line of trees
across the horizon.
It is a beacon to dreary thoughts a promise,
Dear God, if this is true, in my thoughts,
of a mere chair,
What of me?
In this vast caotic world, I am but a small dot
a flec of humanity among scores.
Unnoticed, lost, going about in a
treadmill of tasks.
Yet, somewhere out there,
How extraordinary to think,
that somehow,
someday,
somewhere,
I, too may become
a glimpse of turqoise
In someones eyes.