The Broken Mirror Within My Soul



There are moments in life that give us clarity. Each of these moments is like a snapshot in our memory that we refer to when we need perspective in our everyday life. Recently I lost my beloved companion, best friend and humble dog. My heart was broken into a shattered mess. Much like a mirror that has shattered, I look down and there are reflections from all around the vicinity but no two pieces of the whole have the same reflection.

When the heart is broken, we look down on the pieces and cry until our soul cannot take it anymore. Then we look at each piece in a unique way and with a fondness. No matter how rough the memory, or how sweet, it is a piece of the whole. Slowly we pick up each piece and start to place them as if putting together a jigsaw puzzle. It takes as long as it takes, in its own time. Then one day it is complete except for one missing piece. We look at the picture coming together with all its broken lines and a single hole left for a missing piece.

One day, as we are cleaning out the cobwebs, something catches our eye. It is shiny and sticks out begging for our attention. Our thoughts go to the thought that it could have hurt someone if we had not found it. Our shattered memories and our hearts are like the mirror. They are there in a shattered mess in our grief. Then one day, when we are sweeping through our precious minds we come across a very special piece which brings it all back together; a picture with lines. The one major difference in the mirror and our broken soul is our soul can heal with the final piece and continue to grow into a bigger, more beautiful picture. Our hearts are truly special when we allow in the unconditional love in the knowledge that our hearts will be broken. We heal in knowledge and move on to other beautiful things on the foundation of our past. Our hearts and spirits heal, strengthen and allow another vulnerable moment and we open our hearts again.

Then my soul opened and revealed its vulnerability:

Life is a series of mirrors of our soul

Our soul can be captured or given

Oh, my soul has been shattered

As my beloved dog passed away

Bliss and Rainbows are his destiny now

No more Pain only happily waiting for me to join

My heart is like a broken mirror

Pieces upon pieces

As I gather each piece to place in the whole

I realize that the pieces of memory will heal

And become the foundation of more memories

And mirrors within my soul

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Journey of The Fallen Leaf


Joyfully I sit next the babbling brook. The bench is new and smells of pine. It is sturdy beneath my body as I sit and lift my head to the sky. The sky was a perfect medium blue without a cloud as far as my eyes could see. As I sit under the tree, a crisp cool breeze caresses my throat and nose.

As the breeze floated through the changing leaves of the oak tree above me it loosened a random leaf here that there. Each leaf would twirl and say back and forth in the breeze as it carefully and slowly came to rest on the green grass around the bench.

My glance lingered on a yellowing leaf as it danced in the sky. First, a slow descent, then a wild back and forth and then a twirling leaf dance. When the breeze stilled it just slowly swayed back and forth and twisted one last time before landing on the surface of the brook before me. My eyes followed the lone leaf, as it was a passenger of the brook instead of the breeze now. It bobbled on each small wave as turned and twisted around a fallen branch. Taking on more water, the leaf seemed to disappear beneath the surface of the water only to pop back to the surface a few inches past the branch. Its journey was still in question.

The little golden leaf folded and flattened with the current of the brook. It looked almost jubilant in its escape of the tree. As I watched, it came to rest a few yards away on the bank with a gathering of other escape leaves.

A golden retriever came lumbering to bank where the leaves gather. I could no longer distinguish which was the leaf that I had watched as he journeyed to the bank. The dog lapped the water of the brook as he waded. As the dog waded the gathering of leaves as he trampled and mixed the leaves with the fresh mud. Some the leaves escaped back into the brook and were journeying again downstream.

As I quietly watched the happy scene before me, I could hear the barking of the dog mixed with a toddler’s high pitch giggles and the lower tones of the parents as they maneuvered the brood. The chill of the breeze was becoming warmer as the sun began to lift higher in the sky. It was becoming a treasured fall day to be sitting and watching the falling leaves.

Soon the floating escape leaves were approaching the covered bridge in the near distance. The last I could make out of the leaves entangled in a small fallen tree beneath the covered bridge. What a lovely sight.

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Down by the Swimming Hole

It was a delightfully sunny, hot and humid day. Today was Sunday and a day of rest and relaxation. Suddenly my favorite place came to mind. I ran for my bedroom to throw on my favorite swimsuit for some summertime fun.


As I ran through the wildflowers in the field, I heard a familiar whistle. In jubilant leaps, I turned; hands cupped around each side of my cheeks shouted an invitation to the owner of the whistle to join my adventure. Soon my friend and partner in crime came to join. She was my best friend for as long as I can remember in my 13 years.

After an hour of swinging on a rope hanging from a large cottonwood tree and landing repeatedly in the cool water of the creek, we laid down under the shade of the large tree as we were lulled into a relaxing summer utopia. Soon I drifted into the land of nod.yosemite water

In the distance, I can hear water splashing and childish giggles. The giggles are reminiscent of chimes that tinkle and ping in the wind. Slowly the scene comes into focus. At first, the blurred figures and shining water seem unrecognizable. Gradually it all comes into focus. My heart is bursting with joy and happiness!

It is a beautiful summer day of sunshine and greenery surrounding the view as far as I can see. Looking down at my feet, I wiggle my toes and lean back to lift my face to the warm, light and refreshing breeze. As I inhale, the essence of green grass and fragrant flowers fill my nostrils with a sweet mixture of heaven.

I hear the sweet laughter and more splashing. Suddenly, cold wetness assaults my internal ecstasy! My eyes flutter alarmingly as I try to determine the nature of the assault. As my eyes focus there is a face just a foot or so above mine. Then cool water drips into my eyes and I sit up and bump heads with my friend. Sarah has always been a mischief and today was no different. Again, a drip of water drops into my eyes. When I looked to see where the water was coming from, I realized it was dripping from Sarah’s wet hair as she lend over me.

Soon we were swinging and splashing in our sweet waterhole until well into the late afternoon. The only thing that could tear us away from our delightful place was the intense growling of our hungry bellies. Thus, our day of leisure and relaxation ended as each of us headed back through the field of wildflowers, in our different directions, to our homes, another relaxing day, and another memory.

 by Jackie Moore Wagner

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Tree of Life


There is a constant emergence of life

Waiting, watching, anticipating

Emerging is the song of life

Mingling in elements it begins to grow

As it stretches it begins from nothing to become something

Opening its parts to the elements as it begs for the touch of warmth

Slowly, oh so excruciatingly slowly, it unfolds

Soft freshness emerges to be exposed

As innocence is exposed it starts to form a crust, a hardening of the exterior

As the exposed area unfolds it pulls with it new growth

The tougher more exposed parts become hardened and cradle the new

Roots form from beneath becoming the support and nurturing foundation

As it grows and reaches for the light and warmth, in all its glory,

Something beyond it happens

Emerging is the sweet smells of abundance of life

There are fragrant flowers

Oh so beautiful and fragrant

So hard for any living creature to resist

Oh what a happy place to be beneath its shade

A wondrous place to put one’s house upon its branches for shelter and convenience

Wee ants crawl to find nutrients, a squirrel finds lush green leaves to forage

A happy fox finds a welcome shade in the impending blaze of a full summer sun

A child places a paper against the tough exterior to make a crayon rubbing

Emerging life touching life

Ah, soon the cool winds and languishing light of day

 The exterior starts to change in color and texture

Soon the outer display of color sheds to the ground

In all its bare glory is the tough exterior

Emerging to behold

A year of growth and maturity

The roots go deeper to find sanctuary in the moist earth

Ah so much accomplished in a year for something that started so small

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Hands Reaching From Past to Future


Generations Reflected in The Hands


His hands were pale and dry, long and wrinkled with a small upward curve at the nail. They were distinctive worn, warm and boney hands. I have seen four generations of those hands. These were the hands of the old, tired and ready to settle into the Earth. As I entwined my hands with his hands, I saw the similarity of the genetics in our hands. What an odd feeling to see the end of a life of someone that brought you into the world.

Hands can feel, touch, manipulate, talk, teach and reach. Our fingers can probe, hook, poke, slap, caress, wipe and point. Our nails impress, scratch, reveal, cut and bore. The palms turn up, turn down, turn sideways, open, close, and when slapped against one another, clap. When fingers intertwine and close individually, they become fists. When palms close together in quiet unison, they become the stance of prayer.

Some of the first gestures we learn are with our hands. A wave of hello or good-bye is elementary and an early gesture. A child will learn to kiss their palm and throw a kiss or show a throwing gesture of NO.

Holding hands is quiet comfort. Shaking hands is a firm hello or goodbye with civil respect. Lending a hand we take for granted as much as being hand and hand.

My hands are tan and soft, extensive and etched with a small upward curve at the nail. They are distinctive wearing, warming and lean hands. The generations reflect in these hands. These are hands of the living and purposeful, ready to carry on in life. As I release his hands from my own, I see the similarity of our lives and must carry on the legacy. What a bittersweet experience to know that his impression is living within me to pass on to the next generation. Therefore, the end becomes a beginning toward another end and another beginning.

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Momma Memories

Today is my youngest child’s birthday. She isn’t a child anymore, but a grown woman making her mark in the world. This momma’s memories always stir and present themselves as photographs in my head. The annual birthdays of my children cannot be stopped and neither can my mind’s photo album.

Oh that day, 7/11 at 7:07 am was the day my daughter presented herself to the world. She was a large baby with a tiny cry. This little one was a mystery to me. She moved very little before she was born except when I ate ice cream. I knew she was going to enjoy ice cream! It is interesting to notice something about my youngest daughter, she never did things by others’ schedules. She chose when and where she was going to do whatever she pleased. Her birth was the first of her stubborn, do it her way, moments. The due date of her expected arrival came and went twelve days earlier. Then in her time she came into the world. She did not have a name for three days and Cassandra Lynn stuck, at least on paper. As she grew she is such an adventurous spirit that one name could not contain it all and she became Sandy, Cass, Lynnie, Lynn Lynn and my own personal name….’Lynnie the Pooh’ when she was being a bit unreasonable.

My momma memories jump from her sweet belly laughs and hungry for life spirit. She would not be bothered with walking if she could crawl faster. Why get one tooth at a time when seven at once suited her better? She never met a stranger. The world was her playground and when it disappointed her then everyone paid the price in her rant.

Cassandra Lynn has grown up and graduated from college, moved to a nearby city in an apartment of her own with a big girl job and her dad and I could not be prouder. I love that she has the same spirit she had the day she was born. Today she turns 24 years old and the world is still fascinating and pliable for my girl.

I look forward to each and every birthday where I can have my momma memories again and again. Happy Birthday to my Cassandra Lynn! Keep making your mark.

Love your momma


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