Tuesday, November 30, 2010

For The Quiet Ones













Shy Ones Grow Up Too
                                            by: B. Marie Jarreau


When she was a very young girl
She said ‘nothing’
To everyone she met.
She chose to save her precious words
For older wiser days
When her thoughts were
Stronger yet.

Some laughed and mocked a girl so small,
Called her ‘dumb’ and pulled her hair
And said,
“She has no tongue at all.”

She kept quite silent
Through her youthful days.
Then like a spirit awake
Words and images began to flow from her heart
As water from a stream to a lake.

As she grew, she had listened
To people, to birds, to owls and Earth
And she’d learned many things,
Yet saved her own thoughts
Till she knew their own worth.

Like a bud as it opens to flower,
She decided to speak.
Her words were fresh
Like a nurturing summer shower.

Ideas and illustrations
From her hands and soul issued forth.
Songs and soliloquies surged from her heart.
Pictures and words
and melodies and more,
She had chosen to express her life through her art.

No longer silent,
No longer small.
The once shy little girl
Would grow up to share her stories
To eager, listeners around the world.
                                                       
©11/2010
. . . 

Visit this link to see what handcrafts I've included on my ETSY site: http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheRustedWren
* All photos and written works copyrighted by Marie Jarreau unless otherwisenoted.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Kindred Spirits
Hanging on a Thread
                                                                              by:  Marie Jarreau  11/6/10

In the early morning spell of a November dawn, a tiny gray spider fell gracefully and slow from a branch’s edge.
Suspended by its shiny, single strand of web-thread it floated briefly against a wall of chilled morning fog. A pleasant sight. I watched - wrapped in a woven woolen shawl, sipping warmth from my cup of ginger tea.
The spider’s abject freedom brought a feeling of kinship to my soul. The little agile creature could descend, or climb, pause, spin or sway in the gentle breeze that fed the fog - as it chose.
At the same time I could sit – sipping from the comfort of my window, breathe deeply of the morning air, stroll out into the foggy day, or go out and dance a solitary jig beneath the  apple blossoms  - as I chose.
For a brief intimate moment in time; there we were – kindred spirits, the wispy little spider and I, hanging on the thread of indecision.
Visit this link to see what handcrafts I've included on my ETSY site: http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheRustedWren