In these first few weeks of summer, I find myself lingering. Taking my time on my morning walk to stop and take a picture, visit with a neighbor, enjoy the bird songs. I linger over morning coffee. I know this is how it should be, but there’s this little mouse in my brain that thinks I should accomplish things. I sing to myself “It is Well”.
When peace like a river, attendeth my way When sorrows like sea billows roll Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say It is well, it is well, with my soul
It is well With my soul It is well, it is well with my soul
Audrey Assad
Peace is my one little word for 2024, so I pay attention. Peace comes to me in songs, in the sounds of the birds, in the slowing down of summer.
When I stopped to take pictures in my neighbor’s garden, she said, “Now write a haiku.” She laughed, but that is what I did. Haiku is a perfect form for peaceful nature noticing.
Canopy of oak arms reaching, tossing tumbling light– peace attends my soul. photo and haiku by Margaret Simon
Freckled lily blossom Lonely lighthouse beacon Pool of goldfish beams photo and haiku by Margaret Simon
Spiritual Journey gathering is with Jone today. She offered us the topic of growth.
A friend of mine who knows I love butterflies called to say she had black swallowtail caterpillars all over her dill plant. I said, “I’m coming.” She gave me the whole pot. We have 5 caterpillars on the plant in a butterfly net in my classroom. I pulled out magnifying sheets and invited my students into an inquiry about the caterpillars. We started with what do you already know and then wrote 3-5 questions.
I think the whole process is nature’s magic, but when one student wanted to know what actually happens in the cocoon/chrysalis, we learned that the caterpillar ingests itself. Ew!
Grief can be like this really messy process. Growth only comes from going through the messy muck of grief. I often feel like I’m not doing it right or well. What is really meant when someone says, “She’s handling it well.” I tell you no one handles it well. No one! We handle it how we handle it. Sometimes that means gripping hard to the steering wheel and other times, it’s walking among the wildflowers weeping.
And just when you think you’ve gone the distance, you’ve gotten through, something else comes along to topple you over.
If we stop growing, grieving, changing, we stop living. Growth is happening every day. Spring reveals to us that even the plants that look bare and dormant will leaf out, will bloom, will grow. Don’t ignore the process. Tend it as you would a tiny, fragile caterpillar.
Welcome to Wednesday This Photo Wants to Be a Poem Day. While you are here, take a moment to be in/ with the featured photograph. When you feel moved to write, write a small poem inspired by the photo. Leave some or all of your creation in a comment. Respond to other writers with positive feedback.
Today’s photo was taken by Molly Hogan. She is a teacher-poet-photographer friend in Maine. When I first saw and saved this photo, I hadn’t seen the full reflection in the water. I’m not sure where this photo was located, but I want to be there today. Don’t you?
God encircles us rainbow stretched over water glows endless hope
Robert selected the topic of everyday miracles for this month’s Spiritual Journey posts. Jennifer Jowett led us at Ethical ELA to explore a letter of the alphabet. Combining both prompts, I wrote about the letter M, my first initial that carries the legacy of my grandmother as well as the letter of my grandmother name, Mamère.
M is for miracle, mountain of twin peaks, how mothers are made, become Mamères watching a boy learning to write his name- “up, down, up, down” ride the pen roller-coaster how calligraphic M wears a fancy dress to the letter party. Maybe M moves mountains, makes miracles, but most of all M glows in the heart when your child mutters, “Mom, I missed you.”
Margaret Simon, draft
I continue to find fascinating words to write about. Today’s word lulu means an outstanding example of a particular type of person or thing. Years ago we rescued a greyhound who came with the name Lulu. I had no idea that the name had this meaning. This poem is sometimes called taking a word for a walk.
Lulu is a luxurious word we say with a lulling lilt calling the lazy dog- a lulu of a greyhound- blond furry wind a blur when she ran. She loved lulu weather. We love our Lulu memory.
I didn’t notice at first. I made my morning coffee, sat down at the table to write. Then the cat mewed and scratched at the screen and I saw it.
Pots over, crashed, spilled out, a mess on the back porch. The screen door ripped open.
I went out to right the pot and scoop dirt back into it and touched the scat.
This disaster was not cat It was raccoon. Obviously, the hellion got in, but couldn’t get out, until he did.
I took a walk in the cool morning breeze, saw the blooming pollinators, listened to the birds, and collected 14 species on the Merlin app while I watched the sun rise in the east, pink and yellow.
Screenshot
My morning prayer included Gaza and Kate, all those in any grief or trouble, then turns to gratitude for my abundance.
Life ain’t no crystal stair. There is darkness, a full moon, and the valley of the shadow of death. The darkest dark brings out the brightest light.
We gathered outside the church to sing Hallelujah to begin the march to the cross. We find a way to physically see more clearly that this path of life can help us see the darkness, feel the anger, the threat to our happiness, and just as swiftly, lead us to sacred light.
I’m wishing you a most holy week.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Spiritual Journey posts for this first Thursday of March are gathered by Ramona at Pleasures from the Page.
Easter, 1972 I’m quite sure my brother was hiding a peace sign behind my head.
Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.
James 1:17
When I was growing up, the front of our home was lined with pink azaleas. We would pose every year (or so it seemed) for an Easter photo near the bouquets of pink. Today my small town heralds an Azalea Trail. March is the time for azaleas to pop. The blooming is fleeting, though. They’ll be gone in two weeks. My One Little Word for 2024 is Peace. Here’s a gathering of goodness for Peace and pink azaleas.
Peeping pink azaleas Emerge on this March day A reliable blossom Carries Easter tradition
Margaret Simon, draft acrostic 2024
photo by Margaret Simon
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Patricia Franz is hosting this month’s Spiritual Thursday with the topic of “Love is”. I decided to create a collaborative poem with my students. I teach gifted kids at 2 schools in grades 2-6. I wrote their statements in my notebook in the order they gave them to me. It worked like a miracle without changing any words. (The reference to washi tape is due to the fact we are using it in our daily notebook practice.)
Love is washi, washi, washi tape, family, friends, teacher, arts and crafts, having fun. (A) The heart of all. (JR)
The heart of a human being when you have kindness in your heart. (J)
Spending time with friends and family. (C)
Love is beautiful. (S)
Love is a priceless treasure, like nothing else in this world. (M)
Something we need, want, and have. (M)
Love is a melody. It could be chaotic or the greatest song you have heard. (A)
Love is companionship between one another. The thought that someone would always be there for you. This is what love is. (K)
Whenever I think of Love is, I turn to the well-known verse from Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians: “Love is patient. Love is kind.” I think we can measure our love by this verse. How are we doing with our patience, kindness, envy, anger? I also wonder how I am doing with loving myself. If I believe that there is a God-light in me, then I must nurture it. I must turn inward each day to check in. Am I loving myself?
I’ve adopted a daily practice of writing small poems. The Stafford Challenge inspired me to use a quote each day to jump-start my writing. Here is a quote followed by an elfchen poem:
When you say ‘yes’ to others, make sure you are not saying ‘no’ to yourself. (Paulo Coelho)
Yes makes sounds like the ocean drawing me to love Myself
Margaret Simon, daily elfchen
How are you giving love to others while also making time to love yourself?
I am hosting today’s Spiritual Journey blog gathering. Add your links using Inlinkz at the end of this post. Welcome to 2024!
Every year I tangle with what word to choose for my One Little Word for the year. I’ve held this practice for years now, but I have to say the word I choose does not always serve me. I have a collection of word bracelets, and alternate them depending on my mood of the day. (Grace, Enough, Presence, Purpose, Embrace…)
Last year I chose the word Purpose. At the time, I didn’t have a clue what a turbulent health event was waiting for me. Now that I am fully through and back to myself, I still can’t find purpose in it. My priest told me that God wanted me to come to a full stop. I somehow needed that. Really? I don’t believe it yet. I still carry anger about what happened to me. I could gloss it up here for social media, but the fact remains, I’m not OK with thinking that God somehow was involved in the medical failure. God doesn’t fail. God sits with you in all things. God was with me even when I could not pray. Presence (not purpose) was what I felt.
I’ve been getting messages about the word Connect. I have a new calendar by Nikki McClure that is titled Connect. When I wrote a poem yesterday for This Photo Wants to be a Poem, connect was my last word. I understand that the reason I write this blog is to connect.
However, last night when I started working on a graphic in Canva, many of the images that came up were mechanical, technical, not at all about human connection. My mind turned on a dime to what I think I truly wish for myself and for the world: Peace.
For these last days of my school break, I have spent some time next to the fireplace noticing how fire can be a comfort as well as a destroyer. Maybe I will be gutted by Peace as I was with Purpose. Who knows what 2024 holds for me? I’m ready to be present for all of it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? I know I have strength to make it through.
My hope is for Peace, peace of mind, peace of soul, peace of presence. Peace, my friends.
Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
This new year has come in quiet, restful, on tender feet. Twenty Twenty Four has a nice sound to it.
My family has been talking a lot about the Enneagram. On the long drive to and from North Georgia, we listened to The Enneagram Journey with Suzanne Stabile. My husband and I were riding with our middle daughter and her 4 year old son. Enneagram language has now entered our family talk. It has transformed the way I speak to and about my daughters. And now, after 12 or so hours of instruction, my husband and I speak about it as well. It is an amazing tool toward empathy and understanding.
I subscribe to an Enneathought of the Day. This little short piece of advice is helpful in keeping me healthy in my ever present mind. I am a four which means my orientation to time is the past. I can get stuck in my feelings about things. My work toward a more healthy way of being is to be present.
I am still working on my One Little Word for this year. Come back on Spiritual Thursday for that post. (And certainly if you are a blogger and want to write with us, you can join with Inlinkz on Thursday.)
Today’s Enneathought teaching “Health is a measure of our capacity to be present.” I think this teaching is valuable to all of us. Here is my reflection:
Health is the Measure of our Capacity to be Present
Present to the muse inside. Waiting with stillness. Open to longing all the while content with its Begging of me To do something courageous. Get out of my head. Put on my walking shoes. Say hello to the morning light. That is all that is required.
Margaret Simon
Amicalola Falls, Georgia (photo by Margaret Simon)
Winter solstice is a day to look forward to, the ending of a school semester, the joy of decorating for Christmas, and our baby JuneBug’s birthday. And yet, almost as soon as I get home from school, the sky darkens and the world feels hushed and harsh and cold. Life is full of these bittersweet moments.
In 2013, I published a book with my poems and my father’s art, Illuminate. (Still available on Amazon.) I wrote poems for each of my father’s Christmas cards. He had done them for 10 years. It was also the year of his 80th birthday. On Novemeber 11th this year, he would have been 90. I miss him everyday. At this time of year, his presence is near as I thumb through his yearly cards and place one of his drawings on my wall. Art has become his legacy.
Artwork by John Gibson
The Star Still Leads
The light shines in the darkness, and darkness did not overcome it.
Wise men traveled a great distance with a will strong enough to carry them over hills and dunes, through nights of wind, storms, and cold. All in search of a person.
We travel a great distance recorded in scrapbooks, dated photographs, no east, no south, west, or north, but names, people we love, people who sustain us in hope.
We are revealed to God, our calloused hands curled in prayer, warmed by fervent asking for relationship, for strength, for understanding. Asking for a star.
Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana. She teaches gifted elementary students, writes poetry and children's books. Welcome to a space of peace, poetry, and personal reflection. Walk in kindness.
Reflections on the Teche 