Me

Pumpkin pie candles, burning in the kitchen campfire smoke floating through the air and fresh cut grass in the spring Children singing and the sound of a train whistle,far off in the distance Pink sunrises and deep orange sunsets warm winds and sunny skies Frosted sugar cookies with a cup of piping hot coffee farmer's markets and ice cold lemonade Purple lilacs, apple blossoms bright zinnias and pale pink peonies like the ones I picked from my mother's garden Good books that transport me or transform me cozy movie nights and buttered popcorn Holidays and special days and quiet, simple everydays with family and friends Those are the things I treasure, that's me.

I Would Have Never Imagined

Walking into that first grade classroom, with less than a week to prepare. They “collapsed” MY classroom, gave MY students to other teachers. Their name tags are on their desks, I had so many plans for the year And now it is gone. Now I have these little kids, I am feeling overwhelmed,scared And a little angry. They can’t just turn to page 77, I have to teach them how to use the bathrooms and the cafeteria, And how to manage being in school all day for the first time. But once the anger and panic subsided what I found was Love. I am their “mom” at school and they share such love for me and trust in me every day. I just hope I have done right by them. While I am happy to be going back to third grade next year, I would never have imagined that I am going to miss these little kids, these first graders.

Dresden

Deep blue skies with a golden angel dancing above

Surrounded by saints, blackened with soot from a war long ago

Church bells chime and classical music plays throughout the square

I feel I could lie here and take my dying breath contented

because this must be heaven

The Farm

My whole family loved "the farm". It was my dad's property by the Oregon coast, just outside of Tillamook. My kids and their cousins have fond memories of campfires, swimming in icy cold creeks, catching frogs and butteflies and picking berries. My dad loved the farm. He spent many years there, content staying in a little trailer on the property. He look below to the meadow to look for deer, and at night I remember him searching the dark black sky for shooting stars. The farm is where my dad died, and where his ashes are scattered. Looking back I wish I had spent more time there with him. But for some reason, I did not love the farm. Instead of feeling peaceful and content there, I felt like a bug in a jar, and to this day I am not sure why.

Seasons

Down the hill from my home, past the little grocery store and the only gas station is a road I have traveled almost every day to town. On this road I mark the seasons and the years as they pass by. Right now it is winter. The irrigation canal that I cross over sits empty, waiting to transport water for spring and summer crops. As I drive along, leafless trees twist and curl and stretch in front of a deep orange sunrise. I never realized how beautiful trees are even without their green or golden leaves. Whispy white clouds paint the sky. Passing by the river there is a beach made of ice and snow, with ducks sitting cured up, their heads tucked in tight against the cold. The local nursery, which is closed for the entire month of January is now open which is my first sign of spring. As the seasons pass their reader board sign up by the road changes. Right now they are featuring valentine's bouquets and winter pansies. As a sign of the early spring they advertise purple and white lilac bushes and roses. On to summer they try to tempt those driving by to stop and buy color spots, hanging flower baskets and American flags for the 4th of July. As school begins in the fall they sell yellow mums, hay bales and big round pumpkins. It is a beautiful country road that helps me to stop, during my day to day life, to appreciate the changing seasons.