The Reunion We Find Waiting

I was honored to be asked to write a guest post by Phyllis Edgerly Ring for her website:


The rich harvest of feelings

Being asked to write a guest post proved more difficult than I had imagined. I have a blog, and know I need to be more active about posting my own commentaries and thoughts, not to mention articles on issues of the day.

Here, however, I have been asked to write for someone else’s site, thus not only representing myself, but in a way, her, as well. To complicate matters, if I were writing about a topic, issue, or event, I would tackle it as I normally do: research the subject, gather facts, determine the particular principles that might apply, learn what others have said, then form my own conclusions and put pen to paper – or, these days, fingers to keyboard.

No one makes me write. In professional positions I’ve held over the years, I have been required to file reports, write memoranda, even treatises, but I was never required to publish law-related articles, or write poems. I wrote those because I wanted to.

It certainly was not because I had nothing better to do. The time spent away from family and the activities that were sacrificed along the way attest to that. It was more often a feeling of being compelled to write. Not for others, although most writers do want people to read their work, but to feed a need or a desire coming from within.This sunflower is BIG

No one makes me post articles, poetry – even recipes — on my blog, though I’ve been struggling to keep up with my postings. It’s not that I’ve been lax, although I am sure that plays a small part. Instead, for now, I’ve felt compelled to write about my experience growing up. The writing is not really so much about me as it is about those feelings and emotions that we all at one time or another share; feelings of joy, happiness, sadness, anger, fear — and yes, loss — that each of us, in our own yet similar ways, do inevitably encounter.

Through this writing experience, I have come to recognize, dare I speak a universal truth, that even in the solitude of writing, we are not truly alone. Our memories of loved ones, friends, and those we admire are always with us, some closer to the surface of awareness than others, but they are there nonetheless.

And if we are really willing to listen, they have much to offer.


You Touched Me

After so many years of building barriers, digging trenches,
Setting stone, and preparing to do battle,
You breached the walls, broke the seals and smashed the locks
Where I had taken refuge.

Your warm smile and gentle words of encouragement
Made me take pause and ponder.
I laid down my sword and shield, and removed my armor.

You touched me where I used to live, and amazed,

                                                                                        I found that I was still at home.

I encourage you to visit Phyllis Edgerly Ring’s website LEAF OF THE TREE and to also check out her new book Snow Fence Road



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  1. You speak the truth, my very dear friend! Our personal writing comes from somewhere deep inside and can be driven by a compulsion of some kind. This post resonates for me. I know what you mean!

    And what can I say about the poem? When I read it I recognized it. Does that seem an odd word to use in this context, “recognize”? I sometimes have this experience when listening to music. It’s like seeing the face of an old friend in a new light. Is it a recognition of things half thought, but not well articulated until this moment.

    Keep writing!

  2. Oh, and by the way, I know how inhibiting it can be to be commissioned to write for someone else’s publication/blog/radio station.

    Thank you for the link to Phyllis’ blog. It’s infused with an extraordinary spirit of love and insight. I’ve signed up to follow it.

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