November 29, 2021. Some travels prove to be temporary escapes from habitual patterns and problems. I’ve just returned from a very different jaunt. My daughter as constant witness was a blessing. And I sensed the tug of Minnesota my son summed up with “I’m through with Texas!” His ashes are now up there, spread ‘neath a beautiful blue sky in one of the natural areas he frequently hiked.
Spreading ashes is meditative. Perhaps chilly air contributed to vibrations running through me. After the ashes, a few miles away we stood to watch the Mississippi River flow around Nicollet Island (smack in the middle of the river and the Minneapolis/St.Paul metropolis). I’d never experienced such togetherness with All – feeling like just one tiny fleck, yet absolutely essential. Definitely grateful.
An incredible Thanksgiving!
stepsandpauses 
What a wonderful blog, Jazz! I feel your love and thank you for sharing this personal journey. You are a wonderful writer!
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I’m glad you find my reflections interesting. Thank you, Lisa!
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A beautiful description and celebration of life! ❤️
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Kelly, thanks!
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Oh, Jazz, what a different kind of Thanksgiving. This poem is so poignant – every line touched my heart. Your attitude, your outlook, your response to life’s loss is quite inspirational. You look to the ever flowing nature of life. The line that touched me the most I think is “How to hug this river that won’t stand still?” This is such a tender post; you have no idea who you touched, who needed this peace. I know I am one of them.
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LuAnne, thank you – I knew only that I had been gifted by the motion of those waves, by the release of ashes, and by the brisk Minnesota weather … such a gift begged to be shared!
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Oh, Jazz. Such wisdom and beauty in these poignant lines! Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you, Bob – I wonder if Indiana would have a similar appeal – I learned much from my son, and now I’m learning from his experiences. Kinda cool. (I drug him from Florida to Texas when he was in 8th grade and he never wanted to go back … but now it seems Texas was a stepping stone to Minnesota.)
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So beautiful, Jazz, and such peace in your words! We definitely are all one perpetual flow!
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Thanks, Lynne.
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Thanks for sharing your beautiful experience. My favorite part are the words “I see in the flowing ripples many faces”….really moves me!
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Betty, thanks – I’m glad some of the vibrations have carried through!
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Excellent photo and poem. I’m glad it went so well, and glad you’re back. No news here.
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Thank you – the only unpleasant part was the last 4+ hours driving in rain and dark on I35 … but we got here about 8:00pm having made a detour through Krum Tx (“this will save 54 minutes” according to the navigation app – we’ll never know how accurate that might’ve been, but we COULD see a LONG line ahead of us not moving at all!) And we got to see a green sky over Waco – reflected in fog and rain were the green lights at the Baylor stadium (Saturday night so something probably going on there in spite of the rain).
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Viscerally related, Jazz. I felt like I was standing there with you, going with the flow. Thanks.
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Thank you, Ron – glad it “flowed” through.
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Oh, yes, the dynamism of holding and being held in the life cycle’s perpetual flow & know how precious it is to *move* & *be moved*… This is the why of poetry.
🍂🍁💗
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Stephanie, thanks. I like the sound of “perpetual” – percussion beat – repetitive (and continuing, continuing …) Indeed a precious few moments, and the buzz continues.
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Grammar Police:
*& of knowing…
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Beautiful, Jazz. I too felt like I was with you, watching the river and feeling the connections. Thank you for the peace, Sarah
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Sarah, thank you – good to hear – glad to spread peace!
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From Walt Whitman:
Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form—no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space—ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold—the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn
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Tom, thank you for this quote – wise Whitman – offering perspective rather than solace, but his words also deliver comfort.
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So much in this poem, Jazz – life, death, sorrow and celebration. So glad your daughter was there with you. A very special sojourn. I feel the universe tremor with approval.
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Thank you … I feel the universe tremoring – urging me from one “urgency” to another – must not be my time to go just yet as the universe somehow kept me on track back from Minnesota.
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Surely not, Jazz. Your spark burns too bright!
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Past, present, and future are found within that flow, all open to our embrace.
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Yes! Thanks, Ken. And thanks for linking to this from your personal river-reflection poem.
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