did you wake today with pile of burdens pressing down heavy even before your feet reached the cold floor?
(you are not alone in this for i have felt it too.)
do you know the psalmist once metaphorically said that the Source of Love collects each tear in a bottle records them in his book?
as i read this recent i observed that it never said only the tears that were worthy, somehow selflessly shed.
these are not the perfect tears in the bottle, holy crystal clear
no, these are all your tears every single one because the Giver of Life understands your pain
he sees, he cares about the depths of your ache and longs to wipe every tear away
and one day he’s promised he will
the frost will melt the dawn will come hold on for this marvellous day
heather pound 2025
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the rubber covers dropped off the wheels of my khaki-coloured bag multiple years ago, and people turn to look when they hear me approach as i tow it clanking along
but while my bag is noisy and even a little bit tattered, a small tear here, a stain or two there, it conjures up recollections of far of places i’ve been, experiences lived, stories to tell—
i pulled it past ladies in colourful saris down grubby calcutta lanes as its wheels turned faithful--containing every single thing i brought to make a new home.
it has trundled past women, as black burkas flowed in the desert city of dubai on the trip where we rode the elevator up, up, up the tallest building in the world.
it travelled to viti levu in the exotic fijian isles. the place i lived for many years before the bag became mine, and it picked up sparkling grains of sand and listened to tropical song.
and maybe it remembers the bahaman honeymoon after this former widow wed, and observed daily as we arranged sun-filled adventures there.
so, while in this airport i see other bags glide smoothly along, hard-sided wonders that need no holding up at all, i know my bag’s every cranny and nook and just how much weight it will hold.
so, go ahead and acquire your spiffy new luggage, but i will keep mine as long as vintage wheels turn and zippers attach, for this bag holds memories as well.
---ode to a very good suitcase
heather pound 2025
I’m not usually very sentimental about material things–but sometimes things take us right back to the memories that they’re connected to. Don’t they?
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my indian rope plant that my mother-in-law gave mere months before she left, gifted us this autumn with its third round of balls of pink since the start of spring
i have no idea why it did this since some years this particular hoya never delivers these water-filled blossoms at all
so multiple times a day, i lift the vine and pause, soaking the beauty in close, a daylight garden galaxy of ruby-hearted mauve
and i marvel and muse at how spectacular nature consistently, honestly is--and smile that right here beside my kitchen sink, my husband’s big-hearted mum encourages me still
(and i would hugely suspect that she is completely delighted too)
--when they linger in our memory
heather pound 2025
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there is a part of me that grips on knuckles white (and maybe there’s one living in you too) that says “we must always hope”
we must, we must--because if we don’t even for one day then all will probably be lost (at least that what it says)
and this part can battle so long and strong for optimists like me
as the pieces that need to simply be sad in order to heal, disintegrate gathering sludge and gunk at the bottom of our personal well of sadness, stagnant
since the surface sad overflows at times but the rest is never tended to long enough to impact what lies beneath
but, (as with anything we feel) sadness has things to say wisdom we will miss if we never let her speak
this is why i have learned (am learning--and always, i think will be) to welcome all emotions, allow them their rightful place to balance my mind as was always intended
so be sad, she is painfully uncomfortable--but safe. and is not the destroyer of hope that some of us think
because in the end there is simply no other way to heal then to support her in her work and to walk her cleansing flame
and hope is the bulb perennial always blooming once again in spring
the owner of the fashionable shop told me that wearing one necklace was unmodern, one must layer them and that to layer a necklace there needed to be not two of them but three
i listened, nodded my head and left the shop all the more determined not to do this thing because layering just two of them is enough to keep untangled isn’t it, let alone three!
so if there is something someone is telling you is the only right and respectable way, that you must follow their opinion based advice to be adequate
stop to consider the source and what they may gain or not by your acquiescence
they may be honestly trying to help (but this doesn’t automatically make them correct)
or they may simply be trying to sell you another necklace
morning rays filter through the atmosphere mixing patterns of blush and amber seasoning with saffron
that in a matter of a few minutes only transform into zephyr blue as all along the birds and cicadas sing
and i, who used to slumber through sunrise know these days that this is something worth rising early for
and that a few more moments of stolen sleep do not outweigh the soul-filling sustenance gifted by the beauty of a storm-less dawn
--intentionally filling my cup
heather pound 2024
How do you fill your wellbeing cup? Does the way you live provide that naturally or do you, like myself, tend to get caught up with the tyranny of the urgent and realise at times you are trying to push on with very little left to give? My cup is filled with moments of connection: with the beauty of the natural world, time spent with people I love, with creativity (mine or sitting with someone else’s), time spent with the Holy or sometimes just reconnecting with myself.
Do you know what fills YOUR cup? If you’re not quite sure, perhaps it’s time to be intentionally curious and foster this practice–before you find yourself empty.
photo by Lino C for Unsplash+
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you feel as if you’re sinking sand shifting under feet waters rising fast and in your eyes i see the fear
but i want to reassure you this is not the place that you were in before
and you as well are not the same
i have watched you grow and because you only see day by day you might not recognise this to be true
but from where i sit i see the picture large and you, my dear have changed
with intentional movements that became routines as small as they might up close from your perspective seem they have made a difference
and if the waters rise up high (even for a day) i know that you will float and perhaps even have strength to swim
he hears the engine of our son’s car as it arrives i hear nothing, every.single.time
i know the lyrics of songs i’ve never consciously even heard while walking through a store
and my selected music refreshes and feeds my soul like parched soil now blessed with frequent rain
he cannot hold a tune but loves tuning a motor until it sings and knows sight unseen what kind of engine drove past
(i don’t even understand how an engine works)
we are different, yes but are also the same both with our own melodies that beckon our ear
and our relationship involves choosing to value differences like these
celebrating the uniqueness of our beloved, even the things we do not understand
supporting each other’s passions not because we are naturally necessarily interested—but because we are very interested in the individual that holds them
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Our list of differences goes on and on but what makes us work is embracing each other’s uniqueness and the things we both bring to our life together that would not exist without the other!
Heather Pound 