Come land upon my shoulder; delight me with your beauty. Your wings fluttering like the teasing of my heart when love is in my grasp. Stay near that I may indulge of your playfulness, fascinated, captured by your true exquisiteness. Hundreds in flight as a colorful whirlwind of mystical dust….
Fly within the gardens and fly within the open space; you carry my dreams from place to place as I follow you unto the sun. The light upon my face vividly shares a smile that cannot be replaced; for it’s the happiness of seeing natural beauty- at its best. Dance about so blithely as laughter of a blissful soul….
Inspire me as I dream of being higher and higher, relieved of all heavy loads…I’m floating upon butterfly wings as they wisp within the air. Dreams, they can be lovely thoughts and smiles of hopeful wishes….
Close your eyes; imagine the monarch butterfly, then, wait on your heartfelt pleasures… I hope you have butterfly dreams, rather it be winter, spring, summer, or fall; amazing for the eyes to behold such beauty cast upon the inner being, lifting your spirit for a season of -Butterfly Dreams.
This is the book you’ll curl up with when you need a little perception of the things that have always been and will most likely continue to be- which are life’s lessons. When I need a little talking to, I look to mama’s wisdom; when I need answers to bewildering moments that I just can’t seem to grasp, I turn to grandmother’s wisdom… and always, my daddy’s love, support, and strength.
Dedicated to my grandmother- Roena Simon (Muh)
THE SEASON OF MANY WHISPERS….. NEVER TRULY KNOWING FROM WHENCE THEY COME. Should I listen within the soft breezes as the wind blows upon the trickling leaves? hoping to hear within its silent moments, hoping to capture the voices that utter my name. To no avail, to know of words that are disheartening… To no avail, to see the motions of parted lips speaking fables from others that be told; It is what grandmother would say, shaking her head. For I’ve never seen grandmother whisper, and she taught us to not do of the same. I understand her olden ways, preserving them as an heirloom lace. Thinking of her, as she might answer… “Child, this IS the season of many whispers; so close the windows and seal the drafty doors; it’s of no avail from whence they come. Words, they can be truth, and words can be lies…. but when whispered, they are meant to hurt and to despise…..”
I’ll let the whispers carry on, like the sea and roaring oceans, not finding a place among my heart as they drown within the music, the sweet tones of praises. Thank you grandmother, for your lessons are still being learned; they are often opened up as books of knowledge handed down through generations…. Tis the season of many whispers, and yet, I care not from whence they come. They won’t shatter me like pieces of broken glass; they won’t overtake me like quick-sand beneath sinking feet. I want to grow old gracefully, like you grandmother…..beautiful like lustrous pearls and dainty like the fresh spring flowers. Words of grace, they surrounded you, embodied within your tongue that spoke kindness that was- not- whispered; and I truly know from whence they came.
~~Never compare yourself to another, trying to measure up to their high stepping lifestyles without slipping into their shoes…. But believe me, your success is shaped within the wearing of your own shoes.~~ (phanessia Harrell)
This is me! No makeup, just the rawness of being a woman who wants to share herself with the world… LOL. My writings, poems, and sayings, all have that same rawness– allowing my heart and soul to be painted upon the pages, showing a picturesque view of words turned into images of all my expressions.