A portion of Fran's poem "In the morning"

in the morning . . .

. . . in the morning

i want to sit on the back deck before dawn.

the chairs and pots and table,

the chairs will all be damp from dewdrop

in the morning i want to go out without a sound

and wait with the dark for sunrise

i want to catch the first glims of light

that softly spread over the trees and fields

the barely-there lightning that is like

delicately-expanding sounds of a musical passage

masquerading as first light

creeping slowly towards me,

Frances and I met about six years ago. We were on a Nonviolent Communication practice call together and I had not heard her on the call before. She was telling a story about how a friend was trying to give her some freshly picked pecans but she was feeling uncomfortable about taking them. One of the basic ideas of Nonviolent Communication is that we empathize with others (rather than advise or reassure), so I was empathizing with her sadness about not  feeling comfortable taking the pecans. And then I said, "I can empathize with you on two fronts because I'm from Louisiana and I know how good fresh picked pecans can be." We became friends very quickly after that day.

I was born in Shreveport, LA and Frances was born and raised in Monroe, LA. I had visited Monroe as a child because my great aunt lived there. Then Frances told me she had gone to school in Shreveport for a couple of years when she was a teenager. Even though we were so far apart now - me in the Pacific Northwest and she in Alabama - just knowing of the same locations seemed to bring us closer.

Then I learned that Frances was a poet and the artist in her could always empathize with the artist in me when I was scared, confused, or disappointed,about putting my work before the public, as well as when I was excited and celebrating, It was wonderful that she understood how I felt. And I could do the same for her.

We talked once a week for almost six years. I am really missing her but also knowing that she is in a good place.

Love to you, Frances 

AKSHARA*

When a wind moves through the trees

         All the leaves in its path flutter

When winds howl and roar               

         Everything shudders!

But when the winds no longer play about

         And the spaces between the leaves are undisturbed

The woods settle into silence

I am as still 

as the breath

inside a prayer

  

Frances Sinderwahl 


Note: Fran shared this poem with me about 5 or 6 years ago. I love it!