Hope Recovered

On February 21 this year, it will be 6 years that I wrote the first draft of this which proves to myself that life is my inspiration most of the time...

I remember

When I thought

That I had lost Hope

Forever

I was convinced

That I would never recover it

That it was gone

Down that lane

A path

Of no return

I spent many rainy nights

Watching drops sliding down

The window

Trickling down the glass

Dancing with the wind

Shaking with the thunder

I had no reason

To believe 

That Hope would be back

But precisely one night

Of a dark winter storm

Winds sweeping across

Toppling countless trees

Rising waves high

          Flooding the land

You appeared in my life

Unexpectedly there

Powerful and gentle

Spontaneous and warm

Responding to my touch

Then the morning came

And I looked outside the window

                No more rain

                Clear blue skies

                Not a single cloud

                The sun shining

And staring at my face

Hope was there again.

Sudden inspiration from the Sea

Sudden inspiration from the sea

And the blue skies

Cool breeze leading

To the turning of the leaves

Into the fall colours

The gold, the orange, the crimson reds

The green foliage vanishing

So fast

The fog moves in

Wrapping it all in a haze

Gentle and cold

And time flies

There is no doubt

That the seasons

As uncertain as they have been

Ran through

The pages of the calendar

But the dreams and the hopes

Stuck around no matter what

Were not defeated and prevailed

Even when confronted

By dark clouds

Revisiting an essay...

Truffle Fiasco

Ok. Let’s put it out there. I am a disgrace to the female gender. I know, I’m a disgrace to Mom’s side of the family. After all, Mom and Grandma and Great Grandma and the Aunts and Great Aunts do it so well. I just don’t. I don’t like it. I’m not good at it. If I have to do it, more often than not, I'll ruin it. Oh yes. I’m talking about the “C” word: Cooking.

Seriously, I am not exaggerating. If I boil water, I’ll burn it. Making rice? Comes out fried or in a soggy mess. Chicken? Undercooked or overcooked. Beef roast? Let’s be merciful for a moment and just call it “extra crispy”... and dry.

Ok, I can make a salad. But what really goes into “making” a salad? I buy pre-washed, pre-mixed, pre-packaged greens, add pre-roasted nuts, a handful of pre-crumbled “feta” cheese and throw in some (yes, of course) bottled dressing. Voila! That’s “my” creation.

Desserts? It’s almost tragic because I love eating them. Except if I make them. For Christmas, I decided to “make” (oh the quotations marks on this piece!) chocolate truffles with Mom. Well, she owns the recipe book and my biggest contribution was buying the ingredients. She was really trying to show me how to make them –oh Moms never lose faith in their offspring apparently!

Lucky me, she prepared the mixture and said “leave it in the fridge so it hardens”. All I had to do a few hours later was use a melon scooper to make little balls of chocolate and roll them on coconut flakes. Simple. Yes? ... No! 

Hours later, Glen is watching the hockey game and I make this whole production of getting the chocolate truffle mix out of the fridge, complete with expressions of “Hmm”, “Yumm” and such. I’m even wearing an apron! There’s the melon scooper, the coconut, the fancy container where I’ll put the truffles in and I proceed...

Well. How could I know that the darn chocolate mix was going to get SO HARD?

There is no melon scooper bringing out any little truffle balls! Little chunks of chocolate come off, jumping at me like spitting at me and making fun of my pretentious aspiration to make chocolate truffles!

I think Mom might –after all-lose her faith in my “culinary” abilities... (Argh! Stop the quotations already!)

Let the rain wash away the pain from yesterday

So the title was a writing prompt that my fellow writer Kazia and I sort of challenged each other to use to create a piece (from the song "Coming Home"). She did a beautiful job, but it took me a while longer to find the sentiment. However, as life happens, it came to me. I guess I needed to feel pain...

It’s sunny out

No clouds in the sky

A bright blue blanket

Above us all

Yet my soul is wounded

Like dry land cracked open

With nothing growing

Somehow

Somewhere

In a dark corner

Of my soul

It’s overcast

Dark gray rainclouds

Threaten to pour

Thunder and lightning

A chill in the air

A storm is approaching

No time to find cover

As the rain starts

Moisture trickles,

reaches deep

The gloomy, farthest spots

And with their magical touch

Cold drops cleanse my soul

I let rain wash away

The pain from yesterday

A timid weed sprouts

Peeks out from the depths

A dandelion blossoms

Even in a barren soul

The obstinate rain creates

A bright yellow bloom

Hope is reborn.

Blue Sky

Encompassing the mountains, 

Forests of pine trees,

Snow-covered peaks, 

Sunrises like sunsets all

A home to all your sorrows,

Built with many pains

Carved with utmost joy  

A claim to this land

Filled with fallen leaves on the ground,

Healthy crops and plenty of fresh air

Welcomes all the people

Of many cultures of the world

Waiting for a storm, corralled by the mountains,

Brought alive by the wind, nourished by the sea

Meets the gaze of dancing waves,

And revels, never ceases to amaze

Rising with the sun high above the summit

And being so transparent, so supreme

The Blue Sky so ever-present,

So wholesome, so vital, so unseen

Simply and very quietly

Cradles the sleepy boats,

Passes under bridges,

Hikes across the woods

Holds the sun in place

And gently embraces the clouds

to give the wind a rest.

Originally written October 2005

Edited March 2011

Naked Trees

I am fascinated with their shapes

Reaching out to the skies,

Trying to touch the ground,

Void of the green that covered them

Or the blooms that punctuated them

Naked

Exposed

At times covered with white snow and ice,

Some times with moss and often with dew

Resting, hibernating, and getting ready

To go farther

To extend themselves towards the clouds

Definitely towards the sun

Arching and creating cages

Visions of thin needles

Weaving into the forest

Breaking the fabric of the horizon

Piercing the sunset and the moonlight

Branches, born from the trunk of the tree

Naked

Unprotected

Seemingly lifeless

But so alive and so daring

Like swords,

Cutting through the air

Like delicate ornaments

Adorning the hills

And carrying themselves

With grace

With certainty that the green leaves will return

That the blooms will follow

And the gold, red and orange foliage

Will fall again

Before they’re naked

Again.

Alessandra Olmedo

March 21, 2011