Drifting Beauty

This glorious beautiful day on the Parkway
Is such an exquisite luxury to my soul.
It displays so much love and glory,
And makes the world seem whole.
What precious escapes You give us
Within the majestic touch of Your hand.
Your warmth says all is well.
Your stillness says how well You understand.
Your clouds drift by
And beckon me,
“Allow yourself
To drift with me.”
Your open blue
Lifts me up,
“I am a part
Of His great love.”
How can this symphony
Be anything else
Than the sweetest pep talk
Just for myself?
Your drifting beauty says,
“I am here with you
Because you, My child,
Are a part of me too.”

1-20-2017 Friday
Written by Gail Brookshire

A Galaxy of Dreamers

Midnight hours. Times of the mind.
Journey the future, the past behind.
Open a door to stairways showing.
Look to the moonlight always glowing.
Stars are our ladders to escape into
The fantasy or fairy tale we all want to.
Leap around from star to star.
But when you fall, watch how far.
For if you fail to recover soon,
You could be injured from the moon.
Edges of knives with sharp little blades.
You are the wish somebody made.
But if you reach to catch a ride
Upon the clouds, you might survive.
It’s a lonely little journey for one to take.
Too many gambles for one to make.
Yet every night at the same time,
We are once again disturbed by the chime.
The warning of creation into the land
That solely belongs to those who are at hand.
For those who are aware of this setting,
Make your bids, let’s start the betting.

2-8-1990
Written by Gail Brookshire

Such a Pretty Day

The pine trees have such a pretty green.
Pretty colorful leaves lie on the ground unseen.
Pretty oranges, light greens, dark greens, and brown.
And such a pretty green grass covers the ground.
Such a pretty shade of blue mixed clouds, catches an eye.
You feel so warm as they pass by.
Figures come to the eye, clouds before the storm.
They seem to ruffle, causing waves to form.
Higher in the sky is the bright shining sun.
Yet also the moon is seen, seems kind of fun.
Saturday is such a pretty day, it warms you so.
A peaceful and calm feeling comes, one I didn’t know.
Children laughing, parents amusing, so good to hear.
With such a feeling, it’s like heaven is just so near.
You almost feel like the world is so nice.
But today is special, with peace as the spice.
With the sun warming your skin and hair,
You let your mind wander, you’re in mid-air.
It’s such a pretty day.

3-16-1986 Saturday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Scared of our country being at war made me appreciate a pretty day.

Flight Within The Love

Sunday… The eagle soars high in flight. Floating through the air. He soars in peace of mind. Not a care in the world. He doesn’t notice the world below him. The world in trouble. Instead he reminisces in the midst of his luxury of quietness. All he can hear is the sound of the wind going by.

As he passes through a cloud within each flutter of his wing, it reminds him of all the souls who have came and went so quickly in his life. And just as great as the impact of the breath-taking beauty of the cloud is, so were the souls of each friend that meant so much. It’s an empty, yet fulfilling emotion to have flown through so many clouds. They were the only value of the flight. For as each one went by, they caused such wind to swift up on his face, bringing tears to his eyes. And as soon as they were out of sight, the eyes were drying, but the memory of the cloud would always linger. For each cloud had its own unique shape and form. Its very special characteristic.

As the eagle is soon exhausted by the flight of passing clouds, he remembers there is a world below without clouds. For you can’t even see through the storm of the life to view a special sentiment. But even so, the eagle also remembers that this is the storm that keeps him from having to be haunted, by the reality that the clouds have moved on without him, because he’s not of their world and as much as he wishes he could be one of them, he has to be saddened to know that there will always be passing clouds for as long as the skies hold up. And they will be new ones each time. They will never be the same. He’ll only have the beautiful memory of each cloud.

So it is only natural that the eagle chooses to occasionally touch ground with reality and shelter himself from the rain, that the clouds will bring. But whenever he misses the unique feeling of flight within the love, all he has to do is look up and they are there. And if the world below just happens to be crashing with thunder and lightning, and stealing his view of what he loves, all he has to do is keep his spirits up, to have the strength to lift those wings of his and fight his way through the rain. He will rise above the storm and be once again in the midst of his luxury of quietness.

How wonderfully exquisite it must be to have that freedom. I envy that eagle to a point, but then again feel so very sorry that he cannot bear the storm and vision what it’s like to see the rainbow after the dark. And the fresh washed soil of the land giving love to the trees, who have roots and share such beauty. They would give such support to the eagle and even have room for nesting on the arms of their limbs. They would never leave the eagle without love and support. Then again the eagle may be giving in to the fear of the tree falling or being broken by the wind. A storm can be overpowering for a tree, as the storm gets stronger and the tree gets older. If only the eagle weren’t so insecure about the stability of love, he could have the exquisite beauty of care.

As you relax and view the eagle in flight, do you see him looking down from time to time? If you were the eagle, would you continue to fly or nest in the tree? I would make my home in the tree and occasionally when I felt the need, I would fly.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight magazine # 3, Spring ’94, pages 103-104)
(by the grace of God)