THE HUMBLE PINES

Winter is the time to snuggle down and watch snowflakes fly. Unfortunately, tasks we’ve set aside indoors—lured outside by the long warm days of summer—now call us asking for completion.

As a writer, I have folders of unfinished stories and works shoved into folders, hidden from my eyes and conscience. Many pieces need a new direction, some may need corrections and rewrites, a few may need a trip to the trash can.                                                       

In my search through these fat folders marked, save, I found a poem I wrote for Christmas over a century ago. What I wanted to do with it, or even why I wrote it, is buried somewhere at the bottom of an informational dump in my brain. It’s a Christmas poem and seems
appropriate for December.

                           The Humble Pines

 

'Twas daybreak in the forest,

the winds blew crisp and cold. 

And snow lay in a white-washed 'guise

on oak trees, staunch and old.

The sky was slate. The drifts, knee-deep,

as snowflakes fluttered down.

While high above, the hemlock sighed

a faint melodious sound.

Across the vale a shaft of light
broke through the frigid morn,
And scattered rays of hope and love...
Today, the Child was born.

Then firethorn threw shimmering beads 

amid the sun-kissed laurel.

Bright holly bushes shook their limbs

with shades of red and coral.

And in these woods where nature reigned,

where peace and ice abound,

The stately pines all bent their heads

and bowed their branches down.

In these trying times let’s all send out a humble wish:

 “Let there be peace on earth…and let it begin with us.”

 

 

For some heartwarming reading during the holiday season, 

please check out my "Musical Christmas Series" 

 

MOTHER'S DAY IN MAY

                                          Your Arms Were Always Open

Your arms were always open
When I needed a hug.

Your heart understood
When I needed a friend.

Your gentle eyes were stern
When I needed a lesson.

Your strength and love
Guided me and gave me wings
To help me soar.

                                  ~Anonymous

April showers bring May flowers. It also allows us to salute mothers all over the world.

When I think about my mother, a farmer’s wife who left this earth too soon, I think of one of the strongest persons I’ve ever known. She was the youngest from a family of nine siblings, and grew up bilingual in a Polish household on a farm outside Clifford, Pennsylvania. Her father, Charles Shefsky, and her mother, Mary, were immigrants. Unfortunately, both my grandfather and grandmother moved to New Jersey and died when I was very young, so I never knew them.

Jean Shefsky Lashinski was a talented lady and seamstress who could sew, crochet, and fashion beautiful articles and clothing on a simple pedal Singer sewing machine. And, she was a skilled crafter and painter as well. From her, I learned to not only make crafts, but also to have a love for books. An avid reader herself, mother made sure my sister and I had books—either purchased or from the Bookmobile—to keep us engaged and entertained with the written word. Obviously, her love for reading rubbed off on me and was the reason I went to college for journalism and communications.

Although she was a very kindhearted person, my mother was also a very stoic, resilient, and outspoken woman for her time. From her, I learned you needed to be able to stand up for what you thought was right, for your own rights, and for the rights of others. She was a strong advocate of women’s rights and routinely worked at her local polling place during election years.

I admit that I still talk to her on occasion when things go wrong or when times seem overwhelming. I can hear her in my head. In her own voice, in her own tone, and in her own words, she would remind me: “Life is tough. You must learn to be tougher.” 

This month, I'm featuring FOUR WHITE ROSES which won three awards 

and has a main character who is a young widow and mother of a little girl. 

 

"Can a wily old ghost help two fractured souls find love again?"