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I Know There Is No Perfect Rose

September 25th, 2007 by Linda Jenkinson
  • The rose which bloomed just yesterday
  • Conceals the seed of its decay.
  • Whose grasping fingers creep and reach
  • Until each petal has been breached.
  • Sepal by sepal the bloom will fall,
  • ‘Til nothing remains of the rose at all.
  • Now, understanding, I can see
  • That I am what was meant to be.
  • Knowing this, I finally find
  • The path that leaves the past behind.
  • Even as the blossom wanes
  • I set my eyes ahead again.
  • Though I may bloom imperfectly
  • I still may bloom resplendently.

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Winona MN — My Camelot

September 23rd, 2007 by Linda Jenkinson

I live in Winona, MN… a town of about 30,000 in the upper Mississippi River Valley. In this area, the river kept the glacier that flattened out most of the state at bay. It’s called a coulee because the river is lined on both sides with tall, beautiful bluffs where bald eagles do dare to fly and nest among the many species of deciduous trees that are 4-season gorgeous.

Built on a sandbar that extends into the Mississippi, Winona is the only city where the Mississippi river runs west to east, rather than north to south.

Because of the coulee, Winona is also protected from the harsher weather that folks who live on the Minnesota prairies or “on the ridge” (the top of the bluffs) experience.

If you think ice comes in white only, have a look at Winona (area) during winter. Ice floes cascade down the bluffs and display in every color of the rainbow as tall evergreens stand guard over bare birch, hickory, walnut, maple, oaks and many more stately trees.

In spring the bluffs light up with every color of green you can imagine. Song birds return and the hills are alive once again.

Summer is time to take advantage of the waterways. Because of Winona’s dedication to the environment, rivers as well as area lakes abound with fishermen (and women), water sports enthusiasts, and swimmers. Its also the time to stand at river’s edge and watch in wonder as small riverboats push huge barges up and down the river… and of course to see the grandeur of the large riverboats like the Mississippi Queen and the American Queen as they dock for an afternoon visit.

During autumn, tourists still flock to Winona to drive along highway 61 (the road Bob Dylan wrote the song about) and take in the spectacular autumn colors that come from the trees having one last ‘dress-up’ fling before winter returns.

Maybe it’s because of the beauty of this area but the people here are among the friendliest, most good-natured, and warm-hearted that I have met anywhere. Everyone is welcome in Winona and the welcome is sincere.

Rochester, MN, the home of the Mayo Clinic is less than an hour away and Wisconsin is just on the other side of the river, a distance of two miles. LaCrosse, Wisconsin is less than a half hour away and is itself, a beautiful (but much larger) town.

Although winter weather here is at times harsh and summer can be hot and humid it’s a small price to pay for the luxury of living here.

I come from the Minnesota prairies and have lived here for only since 2001, but being born in RedWing, MN (another town just up river), I think the river and the bluffs are in my blood.

Winona is my Camelot. — “No, never will I leave you- at all.”

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I Live in the Black Box

September 15th, 2007 by Linda Jenkinson
  • I live in the black box
  • And though in flying I crash and burn
  • The story of my journey awaits
  • when you open the box at my return.
  • I have bounced back, remained intact.
  • I live in the black box
  • The shelter that held me, scattered in shreds
  • The wind that guided me
  • Has vanished, is dead
  • I have survived, remained alive.

I live in the black box.

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Heaven is the place…

September 3rd, 2007 by Linda Jenkinson
  • Where the harp string never breaks in the middle of the concert;
  • Where clumsy fingers never strike the wrong chord;
  • Where we can walk barefoot and our feet never stumble, step on a thorn, or stub a toe;
  • Where problems are resolved and the solutions are clear in their logic and give us peace;
  • Where we never expect more from another than they are prepared to give and never promise to give more than we are prepared to deliver;
  • Where we are never too early or too late because time itself is eternal;
  • Where we can pet a porcupine or picnic in the midst of a pride of lions without fear of injury;
  • Where we truly know our own mind;
  • Where making the right decisions is easy because they are the only decisions to make;
  • Where, upon encountering the Gates and seeing our names radiant in the Book of Life, our next stop is to bathe under the Waterfall of Forgiveness in sparkling streams that leave us feeling cleaner than we ever imagined possible;
  • Where we choose the obstacles we will overcome and the lessons we will learn on our next earthly journey;
  • Where we bond in covenants with other kindred spirits who we will help and who will help us as we travel through the darkness, back into the light.

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The Wrong Side of the Mountain — Minin’ Town

August 27th, 2007 by Linda Jenkinson
  • I was born and raised on the wrong side of the mountain.
  • Lived there until the age of twenty-one.
  • In this damn dirty minin’ town
  • The men go down into the ground every day.
  • And the women pray.
  • I saw young men from the mines with red rims to their eyes
  • And black dust, a coffin in their lungs.
  • When I was just a little babe, I sat on grandma’s knee
  • And she was crying as grandpa lay dyin’ of a mining injury
  • And he was only forty-three… forty-three.
  • So I’m going away from the wrong side of the mountain.
  • Gonna find a place where the air is clear and fair.
  • When I was just a child of nine a-comin’ home from school
  • Heard tell of a cave-in in the mines and I passed a murky pool.
  • I’m sick of the sight of young men dyin’
  • Sick of the sound of their kin folk cryin’,
  • I heard my mama cryin’ before I understood
  • That the pool I passed in the middle of the road
  • Was my own sweet father’s blood
  • There’s bound to be a better life somewhere.
  • And he was only twenty-nine… working in the mines
  • Twenty-nine… Dyin’ in the mines.
  • Wind a-blowin’, drivin’ dirty rain.
  • Soot a-streamin’ down my window pane.
  • In this damn dirty minin’ town
  • The men go down into the ground every day
  • And the women pray.
  • Water runnin’ underneath my door.
  • Makes me wonder what I’m living’ for!
  • And we pray day and night.
  • So I’m going away from the wrong side of the mountain.
  • Gonna find a place where the air is clear and fair.
  • I’m sick of the sounds and sick of the sights
  • And we pray night and day.
  • There’s bound to be a better life…
  • And the women pray.

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