May It Be - A Poem for Thanksgiving 2025

 

Let wandering sassafras roam the garden
let Beauty meander where it will
overtopping staid intentions
for what should
be.

Let autumn's asters reseed with abandon
let Wisdom blow across the land
scattered as by a breath
to barren places
lacking life.

Let rivers rise across the floodplain
let Truth be carried by the current
deposited as fertile silt
rejuvenating weary
minds.

Let rain patter gently on all the lands
let Love soak into thirsty ground
softening arid soils and souls
becoming part of all
that is.

Life Calls to Life

 

Every scrap of remaining beauty
every last
autumn-tinted leaf hanging from a twig
or lying
still vibrant on the forest floor

Every morning clothed in mist
every drizzly
day of rain pattering on spent gardens
or frozen fields 
frosted white at sunrise

Every cardinal's clipped chip note
every whitethroat's
sweet whistle in the hedgerow
or the junco's
bell choir in the winter meadow

Every moment holy

On This Cloudy Damp November Morning

On This Cloudy Damp November Morning

chickadees chortle
in the gnarled old apple tree
whitethroats whistle
in the mist
and drab goldfinches gather
to glean from spent coneflowers
and the Susans.

Breezes brush through
sassafras’s last ruby-red leaves
and pawpaw’s clinging gold
stirring the hazelnut’s burnished copper
and witch hazels’ butter-yellow blooms.

Surrounded by autumn’s gifts
no one is richer
than me.

Savoring Every Scrap of Beauty - A November 7th Garden Pictorial

 Savoring every scrap of subtle beauty before winter’s long rest.