Skin Deep

Bark of a Tree.
Bark of a Tree.

You are my protector. I depend on your vigilance. I rely on you to lock out disease and expel toxicity. Without you, I cannot function. You who are supple and soft yet strong enough to hold the weight of my being. This job of never ending sentinel takes its toll, I know. I see you sagging and wrinkling. I see the scars that no longer fade. Now, it is I who will try to protect you.

October Gift: An Acrostic Poem

Tree along the side of a busy road. October, 2015
Tree along the side of a busy road. October, 2015


OCTOBER GIFT:  An Acrostic Poem


From the tops of trees down,

Almost in stunning unity

Leaves once supple in the breeze

Lose life.  Slowly turning


Stiff–their cool greens

Entering the final stage

All warm reds and gold.

Soon, wind like a chilly warning

Overcomes the atmosphere.

Now, the leaves rattle and fall.


Blogging U.



Linked to Nature

image image

Views from the new Whitney Museum, Meatpacking District, Manhattan

When I was young, I would imagine myselt in various occupations and, based on my knowledge about each, I would construct a scenerio of  my life say, as an employee of the American Embassy working in Paris or a teacher in a classroom full of students wanting to learn. I could see myself as an assistant to a US Senator working in Washington or a high powered employee of Wall Street firm.  One occupation I entertained off-and-on for quite a while was a Park Ranger. I saw myself as the keeper of beauty always alert to threats and being an expert in averting them in order to maintain what remained of the wild, natural world. There was something enticing about life in the forest, climbing to the top of towers to search the panorama for signs of fire, hearing only the sound of water flowing in streams and birds calling to each other.

In college, my love of the arts took over my imagination.  Living and working in a natural environment seemed quaint,much less desirable and very, very lonely. Cities were magnets for art, dance, theater and museums. New York became the place for me to be.  My old dreams were relegated to the recesses of my mind. Front and center was the pull of Manhattan with its sophistication and savvy people  who were successful enough to make that island of bricks and cement, highrises, and dark streets their home. I didn’t want to acknowledge then just how much the part of me who felt at home in nature would be lost in my new environment and I wasn’t alone. Why are all the apartments that have views of the Hudson River or the East River or the lush green  trees of Central Park so coveted, so expensive?

(To be continued)


The Cedar Chest in the Living Room

The top of the chest.
The top of the chest.

How often I glance at the ornately carved cedar chest from china.  The chest that sailed from Asia to American Northwest and sat in my father’s cabin in Oregon until traveling east to New York City when my mom and dad got married. My first memory of the chest was in the living room of our apartment on Staten Island. It was the magical piece of furniture in the room meant to be looked at and to store extraordinary things. From there, it moved with us to a house not more that a mile from the Verrazano Bridge facing the Narrows across from Brooklyn. There it occupied a position of honor underneath windows facing North and West.

The treasures it held traveled with us.  A white, Angora sweater from Italy neated folded in tissue paper, a boomerang from Australia, a doll from Germany, all of which were treated like artifacts in a museum.  Occasionally, they were taken out and put on view for all to admire.  The story of how my father, an engineer with the Merchant Marines, acquired these treasures on his travels around the world was dutifully retold until I had it memorized.  Eventually, the doll came to sit on my bed and the sweater was worm by my sister.

Now, the chest is mine and it sits in a prominent place in the living room of my home on Long Island.  It hold different treasures. They, too, are removed occasionally and gazed at and one day they will belong to other family members.

The Cedar Chest
The Cedar Chest

<a href="">Home Turf</a>Home Turf