Soap Sticks…#125

 

Vintage sepia toned image of a very old donkey. Lying in the sand stock photography

Soap Sticks…
The dark russet of her hair, wiry, tickled the legs and her boney back made sore the tiny bottoms of my sparsely clothed butt. She was a tough ole girl still walk slow, proud of herself when we climbed on her back, you would swear the old mule would strut. Silver hair replaced the brown around her eyes and mouth, in her prime she pulled heavy plows and wagons, Soap Sticks was a genuine southern mule. She woke at four O’clock every morning with a braying that echoed off the bluffs above our home. Like a barnyard rooster, it was her way of telling everyone to wake up.

Her world in those days was filled with sunshine and all the oats that she wanted to eat, her long ears had finally gone dead, her sight week. Soap Sticks was wise, her senses distinct and she roamed familiar pastures by instinct. She inhabited brooks in the pastures nibbled on whatever the land would yield. Her love for children never changed, when I came next to her she would instantly kneel to the ground making it possible for her little girl to climb upon her back.

Climbing on her back leaving the pasture I would hold to her rough mane, she took me through the fields of cotton, corn and sugar cane where she would stop for me to break off a sweet piece of the sugar cane. She would go down into the brooks deep enough to let the water tickle my feet. On any given day, she would be the one that made the decision to give me these special treats. Unafraid, I knew that she would never bring any harm to me, when she tired of the ride she would slowly take me back to the farm where I would put her back into the pasture.

It was a brisk fall day that my daddy came into our kitchen to say that Old Soap Sticks had gone very far away. “Where” I screamed, he told me that she had suffered all night, she was very old and that about four O’clock she just closed her eyes and went to her final sleep. Daddy buried her in the pasture by the little brook she loved so much, close to the clear sweet water. I said a prayer over the tall mound where she would lay forever, I did not cry, as it was not our way.

I knew that Soap Sticks would not be old or alone, she would roam green pastures and drink from bubbling brooks, at last, she was truly home. She could now hear birds sing and see other animals around her. I do not know how old I will be before I go into that final sleep, but I know when I do Old Soap Sticks would come running, kneeling down to carry me to my final home.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…

 

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

 

41+X2DEZIpL._AC_US218_

Living for Today…#124

Enjoy miracle alive life love magic help nature. Enjoy miracle alive life live love magic help nature typography art paint healthy health appreciation faith hope royalty free stock photography

      Concern builds today as we struggle to live within the now while anticipating tomorrow…the future. Such is life, the perception that we could change yesterday, the making sense of living in the now, and the imagination of what will come tomorrow? It is all beyond reality, a parable of abstract dreams from which we wake to find that yesterday will not return; today is the only time within our grasp and tomorrow is only a promise that may or may not come.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com…
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

41+X2DEZIpL._AC_US218_

 

Music in Your Heart…#122

Image result for music imagery

Music in your Heart…

Expand your senses no one can take away your right to choose, believe in yourself. Wake up your emotions, live on the edge for a while; rid yourself of life’s clutter, let your imagination soar. Let no secret voices guide your life, no clandestine decisions stop you from saying the right words; without a loving spirit, the unique music within your heart will never be heard. Make your own imprint on life, leave a legacy for the coming generations; give yourself permission to set lofty goals and solid expectations. Listen to the music in your heart.

 
©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

In the Darkness of Night…#117

CHICKASAW NATION SEAL

“To my father and all of our Chickasaw family who walked before him on the Trail of Tears”.

In the Darkness of Night…

I hear the cries of my grandmothers and

grandfathers, I feel their fear; I walk with

them in my dreams on the Trail of Tears.

Their feet bloody as they walked the rutted

trail, every scar on their backs is another

story to tell.

 
They planted crops gave blessing and took

from the land only what they would need, a

word they did not know… greed. Strangers

with pale skin came from the east where

living off the land was unknown; my people

taught them how to live, when no longer

needed the white stranger’s drove them

from their ancestral homes.

 
The Grandfathers and their families stood

tall, their backs they refused to bend so the

white strangers herded them like cattle to

a far off land… to die in the hot barren sand.

My people believed the land belonged to no

one, given to all by the “Great Mystery”; still

they died with broken souls never knowing

that their story in time covered the blood-

splattered pages of history.

 
My people watched as women gave birth

and warriors carried the dead, the children

went to sleep hungry with the ground as their

bed. The day came when these great people

corralled on dry barren land, given musty

water and bug-infested corn meal to eat,

in a place with no hope, to the white man

they were bound; a killing field where the

blood of my family spilled upon the ground.

 
I hear you my grandmothers and grandfathers,

your cries do not go unheard in the darkness

of night; for in my dreams I walk with you,

I feel your fear; I wake each morning with the

taste of your tears.

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 
Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com $.99 to $15:

 

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

 

 

Honeysuckle Memories…#114

 

Honeysuckle Memories…

Deep within my memories I sometimes walk to a place where my life began, I take an emotional journey, from time to time. Memories with or without images of those days are like a thunderstorms distance echo, you cannot see it; you know that at one time it was there.

A furrowed road, wild honeysuckle; a crumbled chimney beneath the kudzu vines, the remnant memories of that life and dim images never change.
It was the cotton fields surrounding the old weathered shack that stole my daddy’s wandering soul.

In the warm red dirt life sprung from the blood and sweat that nurtured the white gold called cotton, it broke spirits, and hardened souls. In memory, the image from the past holds but one old leathered face, my daddy’s.

Life goes by quickly, places and people vanish without a trace, time and progress erases the landscape of our lives, memories are made of gold. In the shadows of the mind is a time of how life use to be; and with only a thought I can recall those sweet honeysuckle memories.
©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com $.99 to $15:

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

 

Going Home…#112

Going Home…

Morning, glorious morning, the sunbeams seeps brightly through the windowpane like frost from winters frozen ground. I rise, face the Eastern sky that is where the warmth of the day can be found. I open the window the breeze bathes me with the scent of lilacs that grow lavishly in the spring. While somewhere in the distance, plum dusk lingers as the last moments of night clings.

A robin searches for worms beneath my crabapple tree, I sip from my favorite cup, a hot peach flavored tea. It is time to dress, comb my snow-white hair and take the well-worn path down the hillside toward the sea. At water’s edge, I pause to remember God, to hear his wondrous call, I will dedicate this moment to the Great Mystery of it all. I pray for patience in enjoying these golden years, to hold my head high and face life without fear.

I return home and I hear children playing in the fields far away, I remember the joy of the imaginary castles in the sky that I use to build. I stop to think, have I sat here all day, reliving my own childhood in that special way? I slowly rise from the old oak rocker, did I remember to eat, is it time to go inside, to wash the dried sand from my feet.

It is then that I return to my thoughts as evening shadows come into sight. It is time for me to climb beneath my mother’s old quilts, my eyes will close and I will flow among the starless time called sleep, my God has a promise to keep. I float across a space upon the softness of a sparkling wind, along the way I see family and friends. I know that my soul from its earthly body has gone; where silver sands and emerald seas will forever be a part of me…this is everlasting love, at last I am home.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree
Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com $.99 to $15:

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree

Running in Place…#110

 

Running in Place…

 
Life is uncertain, a race where most people

do no more than run in place, there can be

happiness, sadness, and around every corner

a surprise; yet hope blooms. Life is what one

must create within their allotted space, or sit

on the sidelines, leaving their journey to fate.

Life is not all joy, as we float upon the winds

of time; there are rights and wrongs; and

unknown quandaries, setbacks, and living means

many mountains to climb. Life quickly passes,

fair and cloudy days, laughter and tears, and

then the warmth of the older years subsides

ones fears.

 
Life may mean walking in the valley of

despair until fate starts an upward climb,

living with happiness, or grief; always trust

the heart and mind. Life lived in harmony

with others, loving, caring and expectations

met; seeds of livelihood sown, atonement

locked away; we strive and labor as time

passes on. Life waits for no one, your parents

may have taught you the lessons to get you

through those uncertain years, and you leave

the nest filled with a heartfelt quest; now

living as an adult, it is your own mind that

you must trust.

 
Life is a learning ground, you stumble and

you fall, the lessons you were taught might

take effort, then you find that you do not

know it all. Life when you were a teen you

found that you were filled with adventure,

you move forward in the quest; soon you

are older and found that you have tried

to do your best.  Life has turned dark hair

into gray; the pains of just living will never

go away. Life gave you the spirit to live,

when things went wrong you never ask why;

age is now no longer running in place; you

can see the light that you will follow. You

grow silent, sitting broken and bent, you

mind growing hollow.

 

 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

Books by author at Amazon.com and Barnes&Noble.com $.99 to $15:

 

https://www.amazon.com/s?k=elizabeth+ann+johnson-murphree&i=stripbooks&crid=2BGV3NKK8VSOQ&sprefix=elizabeht+ann+johnson%2Caps%2C213&ref=nb_sb_ss_sc_1_18

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/elizabeth%20ann%20johnson%20murphree