Pamela Leavey

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Category: Prose

Food For Thought: Wonder

January 3, 2020

Sandy Point, Plum Island, Massachusetts

Without the state of wonder that blossoms when graced with the vision of nature we would surely be lost, for as I feast my eyes each day upon the river that fluxes with the tides afore my eyes, I am touched by the grace of the universe. The greatest gift to humankind is the world in which we live, the nature around us. The rivers and the seas, the mountains and the beaches, the sacred places, are where we must all go to unburden and renew. Wonder is what heals us. Wonder brings us joy. Wonder, that sense of pure awe that touches us in the midst of nature is the primal conduit of joy.

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Food For Thought: The Bend at Eagle’s Nest

December 31, 2019

Here at the bend in the river, at eagle’s nest, is where the sun glimmers on the water casting its shimmering light in such a manner that it illuminates my mind with both queries and answers simultaneously, for that beam of sun is so brilliant that I am blinded by its presence.

A million words race through my mind ricocheting off the water and tumbling down the river, running off to the sea. It is here in this curve of the river that I let go of a little pain and let in the glorious glow that I seek. I stop, I soak in the sun, and I turn back, warm and renewed, lighter, and brighter. I know the words I spilled down the river will return to me on the page. For it is here, I draft the questions that need answers. And, it is here, that the answers come to me. The light converging on the water, even in its palest or darkest glow, speaks to me, all knowing.

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Tiny Tender Tendrils

December 30, 2019

Tiny, tender tendrils of trees reached tenuously to the sky in askance for love and light on a raw fall day. The wind blew fiercely shaking the tiny tender tendrils of trees all about me, as I walked along the river. There were layers upon layer of colors and textures laying beyond the naked trees like soldiers standing steadfastly along the river. I saluted the shivering tendrils shaking in the brute wind and I walked on, seeking the sun, where the tiny, tender tendrils of trees did not stand saluting the cadmium sky.

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Musing and Rambling

Sometimes I muse and I ramble because I can... I muse about life and things that matter to me...

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