Sunday, July 3, 2011

The Lady of Lamey Lane

                        ~CONCERNING THE LADY OF LAMEY LANE~

The sun rousts itself about, blearily peeking through crusty eyes
Over the tops of spindly yellow pines along highway 15.
Nothing in particular arrests its attention
As it wonders where its Florida orange juice is.

A threatening chill tethers itself to the October morning air,
Just its timely reminder that January's cold plods near.
To the southwest, clouds mull about, making a shallow pretense
Of the possibility of an afternoon squall.

But, as a pleasant matter of routine,
An elderly lady with cane obtains her paper
And then rests on her front porch with her coffee.
She is a reminder that not all are sucked into the vortex
                   of hellbent change.
Flowers and plants of various satisfying descriptions
Look over her shoulder and read yesterday's events with her.
And most comfortably kicked-back with her at the tempered glass table
Is the One who stirred and nurtured in her
The desire for the surrounding beauty.
His eyes sparkle at the magnificence here
          that declares the presence of His glory;
But sitting and sipping, she seems to be unaware
Of the One who has always been there with her.
                          Yet, He remembers the varied times.

Effortlessly, He recalls her birth in the Soo
On a forlornly, cold February day that lacked
          any resonance of hope,
Even the freighters despaired another passage of the Locks.
Who showed any definite interest in her entrance on this play of life?

Only those in the room noticed, and some with mirthless concern.
                          But He had great joy over her birth.

A tear traces His rutted cheeks
As He looks up and down the empty,
Graveled Alaskan Highway, and then He kneels
          to help her cook a simple supper
          on the roadside.
He giggles as He watches her faces
As another son learns to walk;
And warmth fills His soul as He listens
To her comfort the broken heart of her oldest son.

The nights of retching emptiness come.
Faithfully, He sits with her as she lay
          destroyed on her bed.
(And if the lady would remember,
She would recall the constant touch of a warm hand
          upon hers.)

Now,He rests with her on the front porch.
Ahhh, she has had a fruitful life in spite of the weeds.
As He exhales a sigh, the flower stirs on the table.
The lady looks up from the Daily Living section,
Puzzled, for the breeze had played itself out earlier.
For a moment, she believes that someone is actually
          sitting to her left.
Somewhat startled, but at ease,
She leans back and looks at the chair next to her.

Sweet thoughts flood her mind:
          "Come unto Me, Virginia, for you are weary and I will give you rest.
           My gift I freely give to you and My love is like no other.

           Call only upon Me, and you will be blessed.
           For I have never left you, nor forsaken you."

Tears stream down her cheeks and drip onto the glass table.
And the sun has found something to arrest its attention. . . . .

                                                With love,
                                                February 16, 2004

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