Offering

Reposting this from last year in honor of my deep gratitude for the simple gifts I've been given.

There's a cat in my lap on a cold and cloudy morning
and tea from a place I have never been,

wooden chairs, wooden floors, wooden tables 
from trees I had no hand in planting,

water from the earth pumped by a well
I did not install, 

apples I did not grow in a bowl I did not turn,
milk and cheese from cows I did not raise,

hay I did not bale 
in the barn I did not build,

birds' winter songs I did not write,
snowy tracks left by foxes I have never met.

All is gift.
Gratitude my offering back.

Identity

In summer's green they look alike.
Only the shapes differ.

But at the crowning of each short life
their true selves are revealed
before floating away
forever.

               Gold
                              Crimson
   Orange   
                                      Magenta

                    Pink
  Purple
                               Maroon

             Yellow

Who are you beneath the mask
you wear for the world?

Autumn Evening on Pine Street

 A simple poem for afterward

Sluggish crickets chirping in the meadow,
slowing cadence in the dark.

Crunching footsteps in the woodland,
doe or buck in crunchy leaves.

Soft rustling through front-yard asters,
stealthy foraging while others sleep.

Great horned owls' courtship concert
drifting across the frosted field.

Breezes sighing in bare branches,
whispers of the coming chill.

November lullaby,
the season's evensong.

If You Are Quiet

 It is time for this piece again...now, more than ever.

If you are quiet
you can hear the leaves fall,
following their twirling, 
swirling dance
with your ears
until they come to rest
softly 
at your feet.

Amid the gales
that loosen their grip,
even amidst the tumult
that rages in your mind,
if you stop,
if you will yourself to listen,
you will hear their 
floating gently-to-earth whispers
as they rustle
through their companions
on the once in a lifetime
descent. 

Background noise
fills my mind,
outer noise of destruction,
of greed,
of power wielded wrongly, 
inner voices of fear,
of sorrow,
of powerlessness,
noise that will drown me
if I let it
and render me deaf, 
even to the Good.

Yet in stillness
I may notice
that which lies beyond
myself
and all my thoughts.
Gazing at the trees of autumn,
swaying
in the winds
that strip their leaves,
Grace breaks through.

If you are quiet,
you can hear the leaves fall.
Listen...

Hearts Hungry *

Hearts Hungry

for beauty, we
savor autumn's palette
before 
it slips away.

Souls longing
for stillness, we 
huddle in silence
gazing
at the stars.

Minds dreaming
of what could be, we
raise our arms
aiming
to touch the sky.

Souls yearning 
for communion, we
lift our faces 
to welcome
the breath of God.

* Title is inspired by words in Glenn Mitchell's Substack,  PrayerNotes from the Homestead.

Marking Time

 

The kinglets have come, 
ruby-throats are leaving,
and today I heard the sapsucker's
whine.

Gold plated pawpaws,
crimson painted sassafras,
and frost asters blanket the fields
in lace.

Red-tails circle above,
drab yellow-throats forage in the garden,
and days, like black walnut leaves, float gently
away.

Companioning

 When the day dawns dreary
and your strength falters,
may you be opened to the life around you,
the bees' gentle buzzing
and the hummingbird's zest.

When the night has been too long,
filled with sorrow or fear,
may the morning dew greet you
and the rising mists 
lift your spirit.

When your moments are lonely
and far too quiet,
may you be comforted by the insects' song
and the twittering of young birds, learning
their own voice.

When your eyes are weary from too much work
or too many tears,
may autumn's hues soothe you,
bronze mums on the doorstep,
September's first crimson leaves.

When all is not as you had dreamed
nor hoped,
may the companions outside your door
carry you tenderly as you find
your way.