“When we honestly ask ourselves which persons in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.
“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.” Henri J.M. Nouwen, Dutch Catholic priest, professor, writer and theologian
Said goodbye to another friend on Friday afternoon. The rose is for him.
Such a lover of color he was,
always savoring; savoring the
soul-soothing wild indigo, the
blue of a summer sky and the
way a daisy with yellow tummy
and white fringe reminded him
to center. He loved the roses,
thorned and feral in racy and
raunchy reds and salacious
pinks, accenting the landscape,
exploding with an earthy laugh.
Peppermint was known to trip
him into ecstasy; the licorice scent
of fennel to tickle his fancy from
hat to boots. Trees were wise,
with their bulk, age, and sage
gnarled trunks. He loved the
sun, setting in Arizona colors,
flaming yellows and oranges,
rising at dawn in New York’s
spring peach and pansy hues.
An amiable meal and a good
night’s sleep were raptures
treasured. A cup of coffee, a
glass of wine, magical elixirs.
He loved his child too, going
about the business of play, fresh
hands rummaging in new worlds.
He loved. He just loved –
…………yesterday’s confusions …
“I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”
One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII by Pablo Neruda in The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems
© 2010 (poem), 2014 (photograph), Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved