Intimately Acquainted

 

"O God, you have searched me and you know me."

 As the vixen screams in the darkeness from the field across the road
I acknowledge the gift I've been given.

As the red-headed woodpecker calls from a black locust in the back woods
I realize I have been heard.

As tree swallows swoop above waving meadow grasses
for a moment I am living in Eden.

As the oriole's sweet song floats from the treetops
I lift my own quiet song of thanksgiving.

As the catbird chatters into the evening
I know I am where I belong, after all.

"O God, you have searched me and you know me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me to comprehend."
                                                             Psalm 139

Somewhere an Owl

In the distance a barred owl sings
to the dark of a summer night
calling to his mate
or offspring.
Or perhaps he announces to the world
he is still here.
As are you.

Take courage.
Take heart.

The day will dawn when we can rest.

Resilience

 

The April freeze was not unexpected.
The ancient apple tree's white cloud
darkened to tan
by morning.

Yet her life blood flowed
and her limbs were strong
and in the alchemy
of her intention
new buds formed
and opened one by one.

The bees
returned.

Every Gardener Knows

Every Gardener Knows
the exultation
of a spring garden in its prime.
Golden ragwort reflects back the sun
Virginia bluebells stand glorious in their blueness
rosy bleeding hearts and fuzzy foamflower
wander through the Christmas ferns and pinxter azalea.

Yet comes the day the garden morphs
as stems tilt and blossoms tire
and with a sigh for beauty spent
she takes the past in hand
clears away faded debris
making room for all
that is to come.

I Didn't Think to Ask for Woodcocks

In honor of the 5 years of spring in this place we've been given.

I Didn't Think to Ask for Woodcocks

or the red fox in the field across the street
or the merlin in the front yard
and the fox sparrows in the back
or the tundra swans
or the bald eagle sailing through the yard
with prey clutched 
in its talons.

I didn't think to ask for toads
and tadpoles
and spotted salamander eggs
in the old backyard pond we inherited
or the raccoons who come 
to wash their food 
at night.

I didn't think to ask for the two columbines
or the ancient peonies
or the softest soil I have ever worked.
Or that I might bring
redemption to this land
and blessing to those 
who loved it
long before.

For all I didn't think to ask...

Thank You.

The Magnolias Bloomed

 

The Magnolias Bloomed

bravely
again this year.
Heedless
of the forecast freeze
they threw themselves
into billowing 
beauty,
pink clouds that would
brown
by morning.

Purple finches
perch 
in place
of petals
and glossy 
greening new
leaves
bedeck 
bare branches.

Next year
they
will try
again.

Stonework

 

We assumed democracy 
to be as unassailable as granite.
We didn't know it would shatter
in the hands of an errant stonemason.

We trusted the economy 
to be as enduring as quartz.
We didn't expect it to splinter
like slate when mishandled.

We believed we had built a foundation 
as firm as bedrock.
We didn't realize we had built overtop
restless fault lines.

Now we must pick up the scattered fragments
and envision a mosaic we cannot see.
May we sculpt a new beginning from the polished 
marble cast aside.

Coppicing in Early March

                     Life Persists, blue - With Kind Permission from Todd Blake, the Quaker Pirate
                                                    https://quakerpirate.format.com

                      

There is still time
this winter
to cut back
your oak
your hazelnut or willow
before the sap rises
still time to cut to the ground
what has persisted 
so long
you presumed
it was permanent. 

From old stumps
come new shoots
young sprouts 
from aged trunks
but you must tend
them well
erect protection against
those who would 
devour them
clear away brambles
that would usurp
the sun's light
given the chance.

                         Life Persists -With kind permission from Todd Blake, the Quaker Pirate
                                                           https://quakerpirate.format.com

 

Death Watch

After my mother died,
I took comfort in dry leaves
turning to duff on the forest floor.
She loved the sea, but I
couldn't go there to spread
what was left of her. I
lowered the last ashes 
into the river,
trusting the current 
to take her where she
most wanted to be.

After my friend died,
it took her weeks to die and I 
sat with her through it all,
no one wanted
her remains.
I spread them
beneath her roses,
and some I tossed into the air
of my own garden,
hoping for blessing,
like Galadriel's dust.

Where do you scatter the ashes
of a nation?

February 6, 2025

 

Outside my window, a cardinal
sings his glad spring song while
democracy crashes.
How fortunate is he
not to be
human.

Candles

I posted this a couple of years ago, but after revising it some, I don't know about you, but I need it now.

How brave,
each standing
alone,
stalwart,
fending off the deepening darkness
that presses in, 
and the cold.

Single flames 
flickering,
dancing to 
the rhythm of those
gathered round
longing for light
they cannot
create.

Brave may we now be,
alone
or together, 
welcoming
the Light,
passing on the warmth
bestowed 
in these dark times,
and cold.

January's Song

When the earth is as hard as the rocks piled at the edge of the field,
tufted titmice whistle as they forage from hedgerow and feeder,

when snow buries the landscape and icicles hang from the branches,
dark-eyed juncos trill in the soft sunlight, feasting on sycamore seeds,

when winds sweep across the pasture and seep through the cracks in the old barn,
Carolina wrens chatter as they pick dried insects from old spider webs in the rafters,

when Orion and Gemini hover as pinpricks of light in the dark winter sky,
great horned owls whisper a distant duet in the mountains behind the house.

 

Blessing for Wintertide

 

When your heart feels as hardened
as ice upon the pond,
may tadpoles in the mud below
remind you of hibernation's gift.

When your inner life seems drab
as winter's monochrome,
may you be surprised by the cardinal's crimson
or a bluebird's russet breast.

When your spirit's song is stilled
and you can't recall the tune,
may you join the chickadee's refrain
sung long before the thaw.

When you feel as wizened 
as the hazelnut's limp catkins,
may plumping pussy willow buds foretell
the fruitfulness to come.

When your hope is as frozen
as the ground on which you walk,
may the Light in all that is
kindle new warmth and light your way.