Holy Heralds

Holy Heralds

they are,
not angels proclaiming
on this Christmas dawn,
but sleepy rustlings
and voices 
from fields
and barn.

White-throats and cardinals,
softly chipping  
in the meadow
at first light,
hallow
the cold and cloudy
greyness
with their glad
tidings

The goats' quiet
nickering
greet the only shepherd
present
in the stable
this morning,
tending her flock in the darkness,
and humming hymns
of the One
newly born. 

Awaken!
The Holy has come,
Christmas
slipping in
through the
sacred ordinary 
of this
day of days,
once again.

 

Within - A Poem for Advent

 

Within our silence
the Song.

Within our longing
the Promise.

Within our darkness
the Light.

Within our sorrow
the Presence.

Within our tumult 
the Comfort.

Within our long waiting
the coming
of God.

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.

Surprised by a Dawn Redwood

 

Surprised by a Dawn Redwood

gifted by a friend who had one 
to spare
and knew
I'd be grateful.

Gratitude,
that generous spirit
that sometimes surprises,
spilling
out into a weary world,
welcome as sunrise,
sowing kindness,
germinating
and rising
like new shoots
springing
from the dark earth
ever towards
the light.

November Woods

 This poem, by Patience Strong, is one of my favorites for this time of year, ushering in the transition of the seasons.

Lovely are the silent woods
on grey November days,
when the leaves fall red and gold,
upon the quiet ways.
From massive beech, majestic oak,
and birches white and slim,
like the pillared aisles of a cathedral
vast and dim.

Drifting mist like smoking incense
hangs upon the air.
Along the paths where birds once sang,
the trees stand stripped and bare.
Making Gothic arches, with their branches interlaced
and window-framing vistas
richly wrought 
and finely traced.

It is good to be in such a place
on such a day.
Problems vanish from the mind
and sorrows steal away.
In the woods of grey November,
silent and austere,
Nature gives her benediction
to the passing year.
            Patience Strong

Praying with Binoculars in the Berkshires in October

 

And with a cup of tea
on the porch off the old classroom.
Praying with the nuthatches and chickadees
foraging at the feeder and in the goldenrod out back,
and with the song sparrows and chipmunks
rustling through last years' leaves.

Praying with the horses on the hillside
and their foggy breath
as the sun rises over the mountain,
light slanting through the black cherry
and the birches.

Praying with the dew glistening in the hayfield
and the spider's silk slung between ash branches,
with yellowing ferns
and lingering asters 
and sugar maple leaves dropping
one by one.

The stone schoolhouse, 
filled with two centuries of memories,
feels too crowded for my silent prayer.
Outdoors I sit,
accompanied by descendents 
of the long ago wild ones,
in praise and thanksgiving
for this morning,
for this land,
and for the One who has been always here.

Deeply Rooted

This from a couple of years ago, but as I am admiring them again, here they are again.

Windflowers

(because they are deeply rooted,
with a nod to Psalm 1 and St Paul)

Tall
and graceful
supple dancers
straining heavenward
though no one tends them
swaying in the slightest breeze
storm-blown but not broken
in autumn as others fade
cheery pink and yellow 
welcoming faces
hosting hungry
bees.