For All of Us

 

                  

 

                     

 

                    For all of us who mourn this day –

                        for all who again - and still - grieve

                        for what was,

                        for who we were,

                        for who was lost – 

                        who we let go,

                    or for what may have been.

 

                    Please,

                        May the mist dissolve.

                        May the veil lift.

                        May we have a glimpse

                        thru the glass, brightly,

                        of what was promised

                    Will be.

His Shop

 

My dad passed away on October 24th at the age of 86. For over thirty years he found joy, purpose and sanctuary in his shop. He created over five hundred individual bird carvings, not to mention feather pins, ornaments and other carvings. 

On the day after he died, I went into his shop and breathed in the essence of my father: meticulous, organized, creative, prepared. There were boxes of feather blanks, all cut out, ready to detail and paint. The same was true for various bird shapes. There were at least three birds in process, which tells me that my father was going to carry on. He was still doing what he loved so well,  almost up to the day he passed. As I took in the tools, the sketches, the aprons hung on their hook, the plans and preparations for ongoing creativity, I cried. What happens now? The words started forming, and although it took weeks, this is my answer to my own question.

His Shop

The shop is quiet now.

His tools, which under his nimble hand

served their highest purpose,

laid aside.

 

Like his Father, he could see within the cold heart of wood,

a warm living creature.

And like his Father,

gentle strokes removed what need not be,

and shaped and smoothed what should...

To the finest curve of feather,

the poise of a wing beat,

the readiness for flight.

 

 

For those unfinished, half-born creatures,

awaiting a further touch, what now?

 

Not for a moment do we believe his task is finished for good.

After this rest – but a moment for him -

when his soul is restored,

he will waken, stretch and 

scan the skies –

Flush with birds, song, color!

He will lift his ready hands,

and there find wings.

Here It Is!

I'm so excited to show you the cover for my book, Essay of the Weak. 

Simple, evocative and beautiful! 

Essay of the Weak is now available for pre-order now on Amazon. 

Follow this link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08YFH1VV4

Although the paperback version isn't ready for pre-order yet, I can give you a sneak peek at the back copy. I will post updates about the paperback as soon as I'm able. I'm still planning for its release on March 18th.

Book News!

 What have I been up to? I'm glad you asked! Besides child care, home keeping, locking down and working, I have finally finished my fourth novel. I know!!! It's been a long time coming, but I'm so happy to announce that on March 18th, 

Essay of the Weak 

will be released on Amazon.

BUT...before that, I will be revealing my cover for Essay of the Weak, designed by my creative and talented sister, Sandy Flewelling of TrueBlue Design. Watch for it on March 11th...

I will also post information about preordering.

Rosary

 Although I'm not Catholic, I purchased prayer beads a while ago. I find them helpful for structuring my prayer life, but don't use them every day. 

Recently, in working on a poem I had started many years ago, I found a connection between the rosary and footprints in the snow on the lake. Here's what I came up with...

ROSARY

 I still can see his

footprints in the white expanse of snow

that lies between the shore and the island.

 For a bird riding

the north wind,

this trail must resemble the

beads on a string,

a rosary; 

even,

measured,

a circle around the tiny ledges

and back to land.

 

 How could one know if

each step was weighted

with cares

that pressed him against the ice,

or threatened to stop him in his tracks.

 

 Perhaps,

as a rosary,

each one was a prayer

lifted and held up,

every move a cry for grace,

a march in the twilight of the world,

to find where the light is best.

 

 What I see is a steadfast path

that led away,

and then,

returned

to home again.

Letting Go and Leaning In

THEY There is no limp when they walk,     no cast or brace to shore up         their wounded souls. No scar, no mark to trace     the change, the primal shift         when you were torn away. But there is this -     fault lines have settled in,         where cares before unknown             trace patterns of sorrow. Fragile shells now easily broken.

And this - hands open, still releasing,     hearts swelled,         still longing for hope to be enough.

WE We have let go. You asked us, each one, to loosen our grip, to love enough to release a soul to you. We have let go.

But see, our open hands, ready for what You promised. See, our upturned faces.

Merry Christmas!

Through December 27, pick up a free copy of my ebook: https://www.amazon.com/Some-Smaller-Grace-Noelle-Carle-ebook/dp/B004V5I4MG













And free thru midnight, December 25th: https://www.amazon.com/Light-Over-Water-Noelle-Carle-ebook/dp/B009NJ7692