Late Summer Pastoral

(Forest, Stable, Field, Red Brick Home, Barn, and Forest Once More)

There was only the road, and on the sides gravel, 3/4 inch crushing as they called it. Nice, though the eye and mind and spirit does scan the atmosphere for something. A hawk glides overhead. Blue air, and white wispy clouds. Then a stable. It’s always there, of course, if you go that way. 

‘I forget about that place. It does hide though. You think it’s here but you have passed it. Or…you think you have passed it but it is here.’ There is a horse and a donkey and a goat. They stand and are in the sun and there is some kind of table and it’s quiet looking by and by and peaceful seeming. Beyond is woodlands. When it rains they must go inside. When it’s cold they must go inside, no? And at night also. They have a design upon the wall outside, like a star, but not an esoteric or symbolic star of any sort, that’s just its aura, just a simple happy star because the sign is symmetrical, handsome, and it fits. Suddenly there is a field. Some tall reeds at the sides. And its spaciousness is good for the eye. ‘Those are hay barrels,’ she says. 

‘Aren’t they called bales? I thought ‘bales,’ but people might call them barrels also. I don’t know.’

They are yellow and rolled up, left nicely spaced and foiled against things. I’d say there was a bird on one but there was not. After, in a second, a small looking red brick house. 

‘It’s quite in from the road,’ I mention, ‘just somehow better, more private, spaced out, and if there was ever a cat or dog it’s much safer being away from roads further in on property.’ 

I imagine times before, when people went into town only sometimes for supplies, and called it ‘Going into town,’ or even after, when there was no Sunday shopping, only family and church. I don’t know if that’s good or bad though, I just imagine the times. Back further and onward, but part of it all, sits a humongous barn, set on a concrete form and stones, showing several windows and the sides are yellow, but a pale yellow almost white. What’s in there? I realize I don’t know well enough anyone like a farmer or ranch owner. I can’t roam those areas and get photography or stories or poems. What a shame, as each of the places is a world and there are surely worlds within worlds and worlds within them. What of the rain barrels or feral cats, or the vines that have grown somewhere or groups of unexpected wildflowers? Surely one or some have a stream hidden somewhere far in back, and what of the flora and fauna and atmosphere around there and the washed stones or the moss or anything at all? I guess there are red rocks and ones and yellow also, like in that stream I used to see by the far forest trail. Then it ends in the sense that the forest begins again, begins for real at once. I see tall trees and imagine for seconds the deer, coyotes, foxes, even wild rabbits or little birds, birds alighting briefly in trees to look around at the shaded worlds.

GOD’S TREE OF THE SPIRIT

Scripture: Psalm 52:8 (NIV)- “But I am like an olive tree, flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever.”

Message: God’s promise to me has allowed me to flourish over the decades. His love keeps me on the path of righteousness. Like the olive tree, there is nourishment in my spirit daily. Moment by moment the Holy Spirit surrounds me, directing my path to eternal life.
It is faith given to me to love God without reservation. Trust was absolute in my life. God’s grace has allowed me to be taught the greatness of His love. This gift of His grace was freely given to me.

Jeremiah 17:7-8 states; Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord.” Jesus Christ, God’s holy Son, teaches me to love the Father. My soul receives nourishment and is refreshed in the seasons of rain. God’s love has brought everlasting joy through Jesus Christ’s sacrifice on the cross leading to salvation and redemption for all. Once my soul was renewed, the world faded into darkness, which allowed the Lord’s light to transform my service to Him. Now the freedom of life here on earth preparing me for my eternal life with the Father. I am now resting in the full confidence of having been accepted in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Prayer: My soul has returned to you for you are merciful. The world is full of darkness, decay, and turmoil. Give us peace and guide us to your Kingdom. We know you are loving, merciful and full of grace. We ask that you do not forsake us, for your Son Jesus Christ has prepared a table for all who honor and praise you and give you glory.
Amen.

I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL

The wound in my heart,  
When will it heal, I don’t know,  
No cure exists for this pain,  
No doctor’s found it, though.  

My enemies wait for me to break,  
They open the door to betrayal’s wake.  
Maybe now, it’s finally enough,  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL.  

You fear not God’s wrath above,  
Even poison you’d gladly shove.  
Tell me, when will you turn to grace?  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL!  

In front, you stand as if you’re strong,  
Behind, you stab—like you’ve all along.  
On my path, you scatter thorns,  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL!!  

I’m the bad one, go ahead and claim,  
Keep saying you’re the victor of the game.  
Gossip about me, add to my blame,  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL.  

Murodillayeva Mohinur is a 10th-grade student at the 44th General Secondary School of G’uzor district, Qashqadaryo region.

A person grows up in his mother's body before he is born. When a mother is upset, she is upset. If he is happy, he will be happy. When he comes to the world, he grows up with the warm love of his mother and the love of his father. Parents are the only people who cheered him when he was happy, cried when he cried, stood by him in any situation, encouraged him, gave their life, love and everything. 

However, some people forget how they grew up and those blessed people who gave their lives to take care of them when they were unable to do anything. This is a sad situation. Or, life time is not worth it. On the contrary, after his death, he remains in a vortex of a thousand regrets. That's what they say about time. A person should make good use of his time and appreciate his parents. It is a very right decision for him to give the love and attention that his parents gave him. My parents are my wealth. Because of them, I can get out of any situation. They are my people who have always helped me and taught me their life experiences. 

Up to this age, no matter what day I had, my parents always came to the first aid. They were happy and proud of me when I succeeded, and when I faced difficulties, they advised me to learn from my mistakes. They tried to make me study, even if it was hard for them. "Learn first. The rest will slowly come to you." - they said. 

If every person has two wings in front of him, that is, his parents, then he is a strong person. Regardless of the situation, a person should always move forward. Because he should never forget that his parents are behind him, trusting him and watching him. 

Our greatest wealth is the presence of our parents. Therefore, my dear person, appreciate your parents. Give them the love they give you. Appreciate your time and make the most of it, knowing that it's a treasure. Always try to make them happy by taking their blessings.

Oblokhulova Maknuna was born on July 18, 2003. 3rd year student of Termez State University. Likes to write creative works. The main goal is to always learn and never stop giving.

Final Sunsets

Here’s the poem I couldn’t write before,

but before I can deceive the world,

I must first find a way to write it.

I’m thinking again about that first

morning flight, traveling to Palestine,

Lebanon, Syria, Yemen, and all across Africa.

But then again, how can I travel again?

How can we rise before the sunrise,

when our people have bid farewell to their final sunsets,

locking themselves away in coffins of silence?

Our enemies are thrilled, overjoyed—

their wars are the reason I feel bound to UN’s wheelchair.

Dear letters A to Z, why do our stories lack a plot?

Why are our souls turning to stone in the eyes of strangers?

The sky opens and pours itself into our hearts,

while we open our hands to peace, only to fall bleeding,

betrayed by the silence of an enemy who said nothing.

If we were God’s favorite saints,

we’d be the bloodstained mirror in an abandoned church.

If we were civilian homes,

we’d be the feathers of lovebirds, caged in a dreamless cemetery.

If we love,

we fall broken.

If we own,

we are lost forever.