The Bridge on the Last Day

 The Bridge on the Last Day

(view from the car during the Big Move)

June 23, 2026

In the last day of my forties, I am pensive. I’m noticing the small things, like a tiny indigo butterfly atop a dandelion. The lavender blooms of the milkweed. A soft downy feather left by an unknown songbird. I am opening my eyes as I travel.

The Big Move happened two weekends ago: I have a new vacation home but my heart is split between here and there, twelve hours apart. A letting go and a tethering, a string pulled across the countryside, a flight and a landing. Love allows us that. To stretch across miles.

In the journey into my next half century, I’m leaving behind some things but I’m still going to collect feathers. This bird still has hope. Is that wrong? I’m still building a bridge of invitation that love will follow me into tomorrow.

One of my devotionals for today says that emotional satisfaction comes from having, offering, and expressing love. This is what I strive to do. Not to satisfy myself. Because it is instinctual for me. Because I can’t help but love. In all ways. Because it is in my nature to do so.  Some people think they don’t deserve this love. Think it’s not for them. Think being alone is better than accepting something that scares them because it means showing themselves, opening up, admitting they have worth. But love can be scary. It makes us vulnerable. It takes trust. And honesty. Perhaps the ones that think they don’t deserve it are the ones that most need it. Need someone to believe in them.

We talked tonight in my AA meeting about expectations. And I’ve failed in this before. I’ve been a victim of my own expectations—turned my hope into expectations for myself, and for other people. It only led to my self-centeredness and loneliness.  And I wish I could take it back.  I wish I could apologize.  I wish I could tell those I hurt how I realize it was wrong to hold that up against them, to try to mold them into something they weren’t. I lost their trust. I lost trust in myself.

But I still build my bridge.  And I still collect feathers. And I still have hope. And I still love. And I still reach out. Tomorrow is a new day and I don’t know what that will bring. But I hope it will bring the emotional satisfaction that I loved in all the ways I could.  I hope it brings those who need that love. I hope it brings those small moments we notice beauty when we stop long enough on the side of the road and glance down, hand held out, waiting for the one to hold it.

by Julie S. Paschold
Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle

6.23.26

The Meaning of Life: A Poem

 

The Meaning of Life
A Poem

 

The meaning of life is
there is no meaning.
The meaning of life is THIS
and he holds up one crooked finger
and you ask what that is and
he says You have to figure that out
for yourself and yeah
you got that from a movie or something
but you thought you knew what
your something was
meaning you thought it was love
as if you tried to love everyone
meaning you have this huge love to give
but who you love keeps changing
meaning they keep leaving
as if You’re Gone by Diamond Rio
is your anthem
but it’s not that you change
who you love just that you change
the focal point of that love
and you just let one more go
not that you stop loving
but you know you can let go
and wait at the same time
hoping that last one will come back for once
meaning are you too hard to love?
too much?
why do they leave?
meaning you may never know
but who you love is growing
meaning more love more growth more faces
more hearts more broken people
to see inside their brokenness
and love them anyway
meaning it hurts sometimes
but maybe that’s your meaning
your feather of hope:
your other half
isn’t a half
you’re whole by yourself
because you stand alone
loving them whole
until they leave
better because they knew you
one more scar
one more love
one more meaning
this life shared again
here may I help you
I see you broken
by the side of the road.

 

by Julie S. Paschold
aka Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle

6.9.26

Dinner With My Son

 Dinner with My Son the Day Before Mother’s Day

―To Lyle

 

You are paying for dinner and we are going out,
a Mexican restaurant we know well
but I haven’t been to in a while. I comment we don’t
have the cute balding waiter that’s been here forever
and knows his stuff but we bumble through
with the guy we’ve been given, though he’s lousy.
Midway through we notice the booths have “cilantro”
engraved in their backs, an herb I am not fond of,
so I make a squishy face and you capture it on camera.

We drive through the lofty neighborhoods,
looking at rich people’s houses, wide-eyed at all the
windows and landscaping, angles and architecture.
We choose our favorites, then realize our gratitude
at having a home of our own, though humble.

You take me out for ice cream and I can’t decide
what I want (typical me) and the conversation flows

so easily throughout the night I wonder at how
we got here...mother and son. I am not so much
guiding you as walking beside you, not so much
leading you as being a trusted mentor and friend.

At the end of the adventure, walking back to the house,
I pause to notice a sphynx moth praying at
our lilac bush in this darkening evening,
drinking its nectar. We both lean in, head-to-head,
just to marvel at this miracle.

 

 

by Julie S. Paschold
aka Tansy Julie the Soaring Eagle

5.10.26

Violent Seams in the Concrete