Unexpected Happenings

So, I no longer have a job. Which is....life. So I've been on a job hunt most of last week. when the weekend came, I decided to try and start catching up on school. Which really means I was cooking and cooking and cooking. 

I broke my phone last week, and I was concerned that I lost my photos of all the assignments I did the days before I broke it....BUT then I got them off the phone and life was good. 

It has been rather full week--a lot to do, a lot of unknowns, and I'm very tired. But I'm a lot less stressed than I have been in a long time (which is weird, seeing as I don't know where the next paycheck is coming from). But, I'm glad that I'm less stressed. I've cleaned my house, got to spend time with friends, I'm almost done with a couple of Christmas projects, helped with several doctor's appointments, and I'm swiftly catching up with school. So, trusting that the job thing will work out, it's been a pretty great week. :-)

The Last Time I Was Here

This is a poem I wrote just now about my home in Idaho. I haven't been back recently; this is not intended to be taken literally. Also, it's a draft. And, it's 2am. For the record.


The last time I was here
the earth trembled with life
the birds were singing, orchards ringing
--now my heaven wilts with strife.

The squirrels would run and chase and leap
from branch to trunk to floor
but now the leaves and twigs fall still
--the squirrels run here no more

The quail, the hawks, the foxes, too
All called this place their home
they shared their kingdom willingly
with me, who loved to roam

around this quarter acre wonderland
this place that grew my soul
deep in the earth, with roots of trust
--this place that made me whole.

The apple tree, with picket fence,
a comfort, and a friend,
A memory of days gone by
Reminds of what has been.

The cherry tree, its twisted trunk
a staircase to the girl
who climbed up with her book and dreams
and let her daydreams whirl

The hawks would circle round our heads,
the quail around our feet
My thought would sore and run with them
And now they only weep.

The sprawling patch of once-bare earth
where mother's garden thrived
now houses naught but weeds and dust
For nothing has survived.

The land was ours, but just as true
to say, we were the land's
We cared for one another,
with hearts and wills and hands.

Now, life's road has taken toll
and ripped us from each other--
the family from the orchard trees--
me from my soul-mother.

Year have passed, and naught remains
of  my own paradise
but souls of trees,  and creeping things.
But memories, suffice.

I turn my back, I walk away,
and realize, with a start
that though the trees have long since died
they live within my heart.