Brenda K Jones Books

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    Memories of the Past

    Mountain Path

     I walked along the path slowly, knowing it would end, abruptly, at the edge of town, and I would have to turn back. I didn’t want to. I wanted to keep walking. Eventually, if I kept moving forward in the same direction I was going now, I would reach the base of the mountain in front of me. And if I kept walking, I would climb into its trees and wildflowers. I could get lost in there, in the mountains, and not return.  

    Sounds of Silence

    There is something to be said about silence.

    Silence doesn’t judge; it doesn’t criticize.

    But it doesn’t help you forget either.

    Quietly, I sat in the morning, listening to the

    sound of the birdsong outside my window.

    Coffee was perking in the kitchen, and the

    fire in front of me was licking the wood.

    I watched the flames leap higher. Ghostly

    images of flame and smoke appeared and

    disappeared like mist on the lake outside my

    door.

    Only Through your Dreams

      

    The dream was peaceful this time, the way it always used to be, in my childhood. There I stood, at the top of the mountain, gazing on the masses of trees and wildflowers below me. The birds were chattering amongst themselves, and the sun shone brightly, and warmly, upon the scene in front of me. I could feel its gentle warmth, and it comforted me. I felt at peace. I was home. Somewhere, below me, my mother was moving around in the kitchen, preparing to make breakfast and wake Jen. I should go down to join them, but I didn’t want to leave.

    A Sister's Love

      

    As I sat in the dark, thoughts swirling through my mind, I started to remember. How it used to be. My brother had always loved me, I knew. He looked out for me, protected me. And he would talk to me, sometimes for hours, just to find out what I needed, or what I was thinking. He always loved me. But Jenny was his treasure. And then she was gone. And so was he.

    When the Past Comes Back

    In the calm of the morning, when the wind

    was still and all was quiet save for the

    occasional cry of an owl or beat of a bat’s

    wing, here, at that time, I sat, quietly,

    reflecting on my life. What it had become,

    where it might be headed. Sometimes the

    best day is the day you accept. The day

    begins as it did the day before, the sun rises

    in the sky, the stars disappear. Clouds turn

    into mist as they are chased away by the

    warmth of the morning. There are days when

    you know. You realize that this is the way it

    is, and the way it will remain. And that’s OK,

    because there’s nothing you can do to

    change it, to change the past.

    A New Day

     Before the day begins, before the sun rises above the horizon to shine light on the new day, there is a quiet, and a peace to the night. Sometimes the wind blows only so slightly, and brings a faint scent of wood and morning flowers. The birds are mostly silent, as they huddle in the trees awaiting the first rays of warmth. An occasional rustle in the trees around me reminds me that I’m not alone. The residents of the forest have begun to stir. 

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