Upon the Ivory

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We sat before your piano,
Our hands upon the keys.
And you did watch my faltering fingers,
As I wiggled with unease.
You watched me fail with silent lips,
Knowing to wait it out.
And when I turned teary eyes on you,
A smile waited on your face.
With practices fingers you placed my hands,
Upon aged ivory keys.
Together we played the song so sweet,
Your smile forever adorned in my mind.

-M.E. InkOwl

Figures of Inspiration


Two figures have been ever present in my life cloaked with wisdom and filled to the brim with unconditional love.

“You are incredible, my wonderful darling.” Grandmother declares with a flourish of her hands.

“You make us proud.” Grandfather says, his eyes disappearing behind the wrinkles of a smile.

Even as an exhausting youth, filled with an insatiable desire to know everything, they both took the time to listen.

Especially now as an adult and parent their support and consideration moves me through mountains.

And each time we meet we share this life long exchange:

“I love you Gramma, I love you Grampa!” I say, wrapped within their arms. A fortress of security lay within our physical bond.

“And we love you.” They whispered back.

-M.E. InkOwl
Author’s Note: The cabin featured in this month’s posts was built by my grandfather and great grandfather. It has now stood over thirty years collecting memories and history as generations have grown to love its weathered frame.

My grandparents, Don and Jan, have spent most of their life moving between ordinary existence and paradise as they have fixed up and improved our cabin, The Cabin.

They have imbued each wall, floorboard, and window with their very souls.

May it continue to bring peace, inspiration, and joy to many future generation is my hope. Their legacy will live on long after they and I have passed.

Thank you all for taking the time to read and participate in this month on The Ink Owl. Your words and likes are every so appreciated.

On the Edge of Wilderlands

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My bare feet pressed into stone slate floor as I stepped closer to the sliding glass door. Cool night air blew through an aged screen as the outside world grew in shades of darkness.
 
I paused, listening as my siblings crawled into their beds. My parents murmured goodnight and dimmed the lamps.  Before me the open world waited.
 
Wrapping an afghan tight around my body I lifted my hand to the screen latch and pulled. Aged plastic wheels rolled and bumped over pebbles and dust in it’s tracks. Wind came pouring in coursing around me.
 
A voice spoke in the twilight. “Michael Donis is that you?”
 
I felt both feet leave the floor at my grandfather’s voice.
 
“Grampa! I didn’t know you were out here!” I hissed, seeing his glasses flash with the last rays of daylight.
 
We stood there for a moment, staring one another. Grandpa smiled and looked up into the night sky, “Well boy, come sit down and look at the stars with me.”
 
“Yes sir.” I said, closing the door and stepping over to the porch swing. Before me the porch rail melted into shadow, merging into a vast stretch of black earth. Miles away the lights of a small city glowed, outlining the edge of mountains that ranged around us. As a seven year old I already felt small next to many of the adults in my life. But comparing that to the vast stretches of darkened rock I felt as a spec of dust on the wind. I sat down next to grandpa, wrapped in his favorite woven blanket.
 
Above us the sky filled with a thousand pin-pricks of light. My eyes open wider, trying to take in all the dancing stars
 
Grandpa leaned over, his voice quiet in my ear, “Makes you feel small, don’t it?”
 
I nodded, not taking my eyes from the sky. “Uh huh.”
 
He put an arm around me, tucking me into his side. Being a small child had it’s advantages, and I snuggled in close. His arm was warm and comforting there in the darkness. It was a solid presence in the shifting evening. Part of me wanted to be afraid, but the thump of his heart and even breathing calmed my nerves.
 
“There’s so many of them up there, Grampa.” I whispered, stretching my arm skyward, reaching for the heavens.
 
“Mmm-hmm.” Thrummed grandpa. He was a man of few words, and I loved it. Every word spoken by him was what he felt and meant.
 
Curiosity gripped my young mind and looked up at the outline of his face. “Grampa, do you ever feel small?”
 
He thought for a moment, staring up into the wheeling arm of the milky way. His arm squeezed me. For a moment we sat there with each other, looking on as the cosmos passed into infinity.
 
His voice fell on my ears with a gentleness that could only come from an understanding heart.
 
“I do, Michael, I do.”
 
 
 
 
 
 

-M.E. InkOwl