A Quiet Clearing in the Vile Clamor *

Where young cardinals
sample creamy hydrangea blossoms

where baby red-winged blackbirds
splash in shady spots

where plump bumblebees burrow
into hostas' fragrant flowers

where sneaky squirrels steal sour fruit
from the ancient apple tree

where black swallowtails float
above purple phlox

where sphinx moths sip from beebalm
the color of raspberry wine

where the garden beckons
offering herself to all.

* Title courtesy of Stephen Berg

Bounty

In offering this poem, I am aware that many parts of the country are not experiencing the bounty of the late summer season for reasons of flood and drought and fire. My heart is with you in lament.

 Blessed be the crickets and katydids
    whose voices are a choir.

Blessed be the cicadas,
    their song the sound of summer.

Blessed be the bluebird fledglings,
    making their way in the world. 

Blessed be the groundhogs,
    fattening on windfalls before winter's long sleep.

Blessed be the bumblebees
   slipping through the lips of turtlehead blossoms.

Blessed be the goldfinches
   gleaning seeds from coneflowers and Susans.

Blessed be the ruby-throats
    feeding and fighting on their way south.

Blessed be the mistflower
    offering nectar to swallowtails and skippers.

Blessed be the winterberry
    providing for hungry birds.

Blessed be this late summer stillness,
    slack tide between the seasons.

Blessed are we
    who open to the bounty that surrounds us.

        

        

Thanksgiving Guests

 

We never know who will join
the feast,
sometimes familiar faces,
sometimes strangers
we have never seen
before.

I don't cook for them,
but they may forage
on their own
where they will.
The menu is quite varied.
There is plenty for all.

The dining room looks
unkempt,
neglected even...
just how our guests like it.
We offer spaces to rest
when they are weary
and all the food they can eat,
sap, insects, seeds, berries,
and some lingering greenery,
everything a feast should offer 
hungry travelers.

November's bounty.
Thanksgiving with the wild ones.

Hospitality of the Hedgerow

Wild and unruly it is,
an untamed profusion
of blackhaw and arrowwood,
winterberry and shrubby dogwoods
weaving a tangle
of hiding places,
an autumnal banquet
for the wild ones.

Wild perennials wander here,
wingstem growing where it will,
and stands of goldenrod
jockeying with the asters,
nectar and pollen in yellows, pinks and purples,
swaying with the movement 
of bees and beetles feeding.

As mistflowers beckon
to the swallowtails and Monarchs,
goldfinches echo unceasingly 
from the sunflowers planted by chipmunks
and the pokeweed's purple berries
invite the catbirds to dine,
and the thrashers,
and thrushes.

Autumn's palette splashes
across the hedgerow 
in glad abandon,
welcoming everyone,
welcoming
all.

Gratitude in Tumultuous Times

 

For granting this space, that I may share 

 in Your creative, sustaining of life, 

thanks be to You, O God.

 

 

     For the miracle of seeds that turn the simplicity of lawn    

into a riot of color and beauty,

haven for small creatures,

thanks be to You.

For the ever present late-summer music of

crickets and katydids

and the goldfinch song among the sunflowers,

for monarchs and swallowtails and bees of all sizes feeding

on buckwheat in the hedgerow,

thanks be to You.

For blossoms that feed the
  migrating ruby-throats,

almost-never-still, zipping

back and forth between flowers,

feeders and each other,

thanks be to You.

For the deep peace of such a place,

for the gift of participating in the provision of Your care,
over and over,
day by day,

moment by moment,

thanks be to You.