My friend Anna moved away
as her last children, a set of
twins, set off to college. They
stayed here instate. She moved
halfway across the country to the
mile high city. Empty nest.
Hands that draw and paint.
She was on hold during the years
of homeschooling and child
training. Oh hold from her artwork.
She has a studio now
and here is some of her work.
She has a show coming up.
Now I would like to get a jet
Ranier Maria Rilke has become
a mentor to her as God's whispers
came through his writing in the
move west. So seeing this painting
to him, moved me to tear up and
declared the glory of the Lord.
You know when you walk with
someone through times that end
in letting go ( except there are cell
phones, there are computers, there
are airplanes), it brings tears.
She sees life in the pattern of metaphors.
She told me once as we were on a trip
to Maine, to sit on the high cliffs of one
of the islands and SING out to the ocean
a hymn. A new song. Indeed the Lord is
bringing her a new song unto Him.
Lord, it is time. Let the great summer go,
Lay your long shadows on the sundials,
And over harvest piles let the winds blow.
Command the last fruits to be ripe;
Grant them some other southern hour,
Urge them to completion, and with power
Drive final sweetness to the heavy grape.
No home will build his weary hands,
He'll wake, read, write letters long to friends
And will the alleys up and down
Walk restlessly, when falling leaves dance.
Ranier Maria Rilke