Be that as it may, it will be a nice change.  It’s been rather warm the past several days, although the nights have been cooling off into the the upper 40s and low 50s.  Good sleeping weather under the warm comforter. 

I think about all of those people in the world who don’t even have a blanket to keep them warm and I am saddened.  May we ever be mindful of those less fortunate than we are and strive to do what we can to help them.

 In the meantime, here’s a poem I wrote a long time ago that expresses what I see out our windows this morning.  I hope you enjoy it.

Cheers & Blessings to each of you today!  Dee

                  Fall Morning  

It’s raining for the first time in many days–
a beautiful fall rain that paints a watercolor
in browns and greens and grays.

The wind in the trees
Is blowing the leaves,
They shimmer and shake
And music they make
As they flutter around
On their way to the ground.
A crackledy, rattledy, crumpledy cough
Sputters from their throats as they all
                                fall off.
    

Down

              down

                          down

                                they spin

    Then the wind blows them up again.

                             Dee O’Neil Andrews
                                  circa 1979

                Oh God, in my striving to know you
                     And understand you
                What knowledge, what truth is there
                     that I can learn
                That has not already been learned
                     by someone, somewhere -
                Smarter than I.
                
               
                In my heart’s desire to love you
                     I see only small fragments
                Of those great loves
                     You must have already known
                By men who had
                Bigger hearts than I.
               
               
                In my willingness to serve you
                     I see mostly that -
                The willingness.
                The service is done
                     so much better
                By those stronger than I.
               
               
                Then, God, I remember the poor widow
                     who gave you all she had.
                This is the gift that I alone can give -
                     All of myself.
                Who else can give you more of this
                One gift – than I.

                            Dee O’Neil Andrews
                               
 

Second-story window room
Full of trees and light.
Sun and shadow
Both delight
The wooden floor
Beside my chair
With patterns bright and moving
In the wind.
I share them
With
No one else
They are my own.

This special place
Pleases me.
To be alone in company
Wanting
Nothing back -
Accepting me for what I am.

Second-story window room
Full of breezes cool and clear.
The peeling walls and worn-out floor
Are more
Than might appear -
I share them
With no one else
They are my own.

Here I am free in company
Wanting
Nothing back -
Accepting me for what I am.

Dee O’Neil Andrews
      circa 1981

Her gentle, yet strong hand guiding me in all that was right and good.

She is my mother.

Her hands today are gnarled and bent, but her mind and heart are strong.  I am strong because of her.

She is my mother.

I learn much still from this gentle strong soul.  She is the woman of Proverbs 31.  She rises early and stays up late while I loaf and eat and enjoy her company.

She is my mother.

When it is her time to finally go, I will never be the same again.  I will be changed and different.  I will be sad and lonely in a way I have never been lonely before.

For she is my mother.  My best friend.

My days after her going will sometimes be long, as her’s are long since the passing of so many whom she has loved.  My nights will sometimes be sleepless, as her’s are sleepless with her aging in time.

But one day we will all be together again and that is the day I most need to think of and remember.  For she is a Godly woman who will be going home to God.

Thank you, God – for my mother.  

This is a poem I wrote years ago and have used in several important positive ways over the years when I was in college and beyond.  It is about the fallen in war.  Those who serve and lose their lives and what that means to the world – to their world and to ours.  The godly men among us who fight our battles and defend us so that we might be free.  

I wrote it about World War II and the Vietnam war, but it applies still, and especially so today.  So leave your thoughts about what the poem conveys to you and how you feel about all of the young men who are serving the U. S. in the military today.

[As an aside, interestingly enough my "fruits of the Spirit" word for today is "Peace," which this poem strongly supports.  Dee] 

BRITTLE  WEEDS

Brittle weeds
Stiff in the sun.
Shaking in the wind
With a rattle
That has the sound
Of dead men’s bones.
The war is gone.
Left alone
Are the weeds -
Brittle weeds
On graves in the sun.

Left undone
By men who died –
Who fell on
Brittle weeds. 

             Dee Ann Andrews, circa 1976

             ~In tribute to the fallen of our country.~

                    I see a rock–
                    a grain of sand
                    And I begin to understand

                            God.

                    A little flower–
                    wild or tame
                    They all are different, yet the same

                                  to God.

                    They are around us–
                    everywhere
                    The little rocks, the flowers fair

                                from God.

                    It is the same–
                    with you and me
                    When others look–they should see

                                God.

                                Dee Ann Andrews
                                      circa 1973

This has been a week of memories.  Memories of 9/11 last Monday for us all;  for us personally, memories much more compelling.  Thursday was the fourth sad annual reminder of Tom’s beloved daughter Kim’s death.  I will not write of her now, but refer you to what I wrote last September 14, and I hope you will read it.  See her picture with Tom and her little daughter, Hayley – In Memoriam – Kimberly Andrews Oldham.

I also remember my dad’s death 10 years ago this date.  Here I offer you a special Wind Vane story from last September 30th, which tells his story and mine on his last complete, "perfect" day on earth.  Take the time to read about "A Perfect Day – September 15, 1996" and comment either there or here, your choice.

I wrote the other day in response to Mike Cope’s Wednesday post he called "The Last Minute Phone Call," about how I view death these days and why I always say "I love you" to Tom, my kids, my family, whenever we must say good-bye, even if for a short time.

I’ve come to think of death as sailing off on our brightly colored
Hobie catamaran toward the setting of the sun where the lighthouse on
the not too distant shore gleams brightly ahead shining its glowing
light across the water showing us the path to home. Across the waves I
hear all the echoes of the many loving words shared and left between us
and they, too, help guide the way.

I close with a poem I wrote many years ago as a very young woman long before I ever had the chance to sail.  It was not written as such, but could today serve as my epitaph or eulogy complete.  I leave it with you to remember me by when – not if – my final earth day shall come when I set sail to eternal shores.

  THE LIGHTHOUSE 

Across the blue calm sea
I see a safe place for me.
Light, flashing bright
On wings of gulls
Reflects the silver
Of the waves
That beat a shining path
To the shore.

The door is there
Below the stair
That upward leads
To the lighthouse
Of my soul.

           Dee Ann Andrews
              circa 1973