“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Wednesday, April 1, 2015



A leisurely walk
on surf-gentled sandy shores,
my feet sinking in.

A sprint up the stairs
with excitement in my voice
to share my good news.

A last-minute run
to the theater with friends
to watch a great film.


Karen said...

I love sandy shores! I have to say, walking on sand is really difficult for me with the MS. Hope you enjoyed the film!

Gail said...

Hi Judy - I,like you, recall warmly and sadly that which I once could do. When I completed the application for disability one of the essay questions was about how having MS has changed my life - I remember writing, among other things not being able to dance.
Love to you

Robert Parker said...

Well said indeed! Me, I'll take playing the organ over waling on the beach, but after I've "organized" enough (as it were), I'll definitely take a walk on the sand!

Muffie said...

I'm assuming that this poem is a reverie of times past? I loved walking along the shore, but it's been a long time since I've had the pleasure. Running up stairs? Funny. I can barely walk up a flight! Seeing a movie is still in my realm of CanDo, but the prep time prohibits my doing it. Ahhh, sweet memories.

xaidw B said...

MS steals what once was as well as what could have been. The constant theft etches the soul and does not allow for optimism.

Judy at Peace Be With You said...

Karen, I live just blocks from the beach but no longer go there because walking on the sand just doesn't work anymore. Here, I'm remembering what it used to feel like.

Gail, OMG, how I miss dancing! I used to dance for hours! Yeah, I miss dancing a great deal.

Robert, to lose something so significant and so self defining as playing your organ really brings home the cost of this miserable disease. I know you do an amazing job finding joy in the life you have, but a loss is a loss.

Muff, yes, this is a reverie of times past. I live a life now so removed from those realities that I feel I must remind myself of the memories. I don't want to forget what they felt like.

Hilda, yes, a constant theft. All encompassing. Across time. Across generations. Across relationships. The list goes on.