In the Shadow



The path of the moon
As it travels across 
The life-sustaining
gaseous orb
is riveting
as the black arch
cuts away the edge 
of the orange globe
then, like molasses on a cold winter day
it travels on
until totally obscuring the Sun
Mid-day brilliance turns to dusk
Hats are donned
Jackets pulled close
As the mercury plunges

There is mystery here
Causing silence amongst
Those gathering in this nest
In the woods
Random strangers
Together gazing upward
At a wide expanse of sky
It feels as if 
This is our own private show

The Sun
Blocked now in its entirety
Continues to illuminate
From its celestial space
It radiates a mystical peace 
Upon our earthen home
The forest animals
Howl, roar, yap, grunt, bark
Their approval
Or is it their fear
As the moon accomplishes
Its travel to create
Totality
While the domestic dogs
Present in our space
Are silent, one and all

The Sun
Blocked in its entirety
Continues to shed light
Upon our nest in the forest
Sharing its jacket of gases
The atmosphere we cannot see
Hidden as it normally is
 By the Sun’s brilliance
Is now the central player

The corona radiates
 its light out to our world
The mountains and valleys of the moon
Add to the display
As they permit a sparkling red gem
To shine through creating
A Baily Bead
A diamond ring of infinite carats
Shines for all to briefly appreciate
Before we must don once again
Our protective eyewear

There is something 
In this experience
Which penetrates my being
And establishes residence
Deep within
Naming it 
Would be tantamount to taming it
Beauty, awe
These words do it no justice
It is beyond even a reverence
A hope
An expansive, open feeling
Deep within
A joy
An awareness
Of how small we truly are
Of how much more exists 
Beyond our ken.

Bearing Witness


Puffed out
to retain warmth
Spring colors emerging
Clustering at the feeders
Beside squirrels
Red ones
Grey ones
And birds of all colors
Sizes and shapes
Similar in their billowing feathers
Constructed to maintain heat
Adding beauty 
Delight
And entertainment
On this blizzard-like
April day.

They endure
 adapt
and survive
they enchant
enthrall and enhance
the wintry landscape
their exquisite plumage on display
as they displace
each other
on the preferred feeder
the one protected by the eaves

Braving the proximity
to the people
in the kitchen
they huddle close
taking turns 
grabbing seeds
to then crunch on 
as they congregate on the sill

Enjoy the food
My feathered friends
Until the snow ends
The temps warm
And mama bear 
Returns
Enjoy the feast 
While I enjoy your presence

You teach patience
Awaiting your turn to 
Grab a seed
You speak of 
A compassionate creator
Who cares for
Each being
Equipping all
With tools for survival
Strength, courage
And perseverance
Help you to brave the elements

Thank you to all
My woodland friends
For visiting 
And bearing witness
To Our Loving Creator

Broken



The pine trees
Became carnage
Battered by the wind
Under the weight of the spring snow
Foundation weakened 
by the soft ground beneath
They lie at roadside
Pilons showing work had been begun
Dedicated teams
Working day into night
Clearing the roads
Allowing traffic to move
Piles of broken branches
Sawed off trunks
Awaiting their sentence
After succumbing to the storm
They fell without respect 
For the surface below
The waters of the dam
Gathered whole trees in their space
Pine needles clinging to the branches
The trunk fractured
Fresh edges of wood visible now
The tree lies helplessly
Upon the waters of the lake
Hugging the edge
Will it wander
And be pulled over the spillway
Where might it travel?
What might it become?

Beside the road
The earth is pulled up
A ball of roots exposed 
Expanding out beyond the trunk
Wider than two tall people
Hand in hand
Stretched across the earthen span
The tree’s body
Has been severed
To allow passage over the road

Across from the fallen member of the roadside forest
Lies a pile of smaller branches
Green needles intact
Likely unaware
There will be no more nourishment
Sap will dry up
But this stack of branches
Destined for their demise
Gives a scent of Christmas to the air
How is it my heart
Is trilling with childlike delight
In the face of death?
Might it be the 
Good Friday
Heralding resurrection to come?

Surprise!


Is it truly less beautiful
In March?
The flakes are hurtling through the air
Covering the land with fullers white
Each flake a crystalline work of art
Ready to sacrifice self as it is joins with others
Creating a snowy comforter atop the land.

The spring birds
Cluster at the feeders
Looking for protection
And sustenance
Only their hunger could
Coerce me out on this blustery morning
Clad in my Vermont Flannel Jammies.
The birds watch from their perches 
In nearby trees and bushes
As the black sunflower seeds are served
Their thanks vibrate through the wintry air
I sense their gratitude 
As my heart fills with warmth
No need for words
For we do not speak the same language


The snow continues to accumulate
Measured by feet now
The juncos stand out against the white backdrop
Wearing their contrasting black plumage
The goldfinches join the feast
Bits of deep yellow have emerged
Around their head and upper body
Their bills are changing to pale orange
As they release their drab winter coats
And their partial molt begins

The chickadees are true friends
Regular dinner guests throughout the year
They crunch their seeds 
While looking in upon me
Washing the dishes.

All day,
The feast carries on
The feathered guests
Puff out their coats
Holding warmth to their bodies
While perching at table
One with another.

Inside
The fire roars 
The meatballs simmer
My pen courses over the pages
 I snuggle under my blanket
A knitted shawl across my shoulders
Yes, it is spring

The seeds are germinating
Upon their heating pads
Some seedlings have erupted
Proudly displaying their cotyledon leaves
The sun is higher in the sky
The mittens, hat and heavy coat 
Were tucked away in the back of the closet

Spring is here on the calendar
But on the ground
And in the air
Winter has reappeared
Like it or not
An inconvenience to some
A gift to others
Classic New England

Is the landscape any less beautiful in March
With the sun now glistening off the crystalline coated earth?

Can true beauty be confined
To a season
Or an age?


There Comes a Time


There comes a time
To move with graceful tempo
Unhurried
Enjoying each step
As life’s journey 
Beckons you forth. 

There is wisdom
There is beauty
To be seen, held, and respected.
Life meanders at its own pace
Irrespective of the speed
and pounding of our footfalls
We cannot grab more
By rushing.

As we saunter 
Along forest’s path
Let us take notice of
The snow drops
The tiny red buds gracing the branches
The skunk cabbages 
Poking their heads out of the swampy land
The birds fluttering overhead
Calling to us
“We’re back!”
And the sun
filtering light through barren branches.

There comes a time
To saunter
Absorbing and cherishing 
This precious adventure
We call life.

Dancing in the Wind


It sounds
Like a freight train
Rumbling down the steel rails
Crossing the country

I hear the ramping up
And the whispering wane
As the wind 
Traverses the woods

The trees,
Over a hundred feet tall
Sway
Back, forth
Left, right
Circling 
Each to their own music
They arch and spiral
With the wind 
Not fighting it
Just playfully waving

It is curious.
They are all confined
Within the same atmospheric conditions
The gusts travel throughout
But the trees
 Maples, aspens, oaks, evergreens and more
 are unique in their response
There is no chorus line
No limbs kicking in unison

It is a bit of a cacophony
Of movement
Each tree 
Feeling its own rhythm
As it experiences the wind
From its own angle
With its own natural resistance
Its own number of rings
Calling out its age and robustness

Branches leap and lunge with grace
Tree trunks lean and recover 
The power of the wind 
is heard and seen 
in the dance of the trees 

They reside shoulder to shoulder
Grounded deeply in the earth
Roots reaching out
Likely intertwined 
In the subterranean world
Providing solid foundation 
Allowing the trees
To bow to nature
With resilience

The pillars of the forest
Swipe against each other again and again
As they move
Like handheld fans
On a hot summer day.

 A snag
A standing dead or dying tree
Also called a wildlife tree
May succumb to the power of the wind.
The mystery resides
In the survival
Of the healthy, closely clustered
Woody organisms of the woods

Retaining their individuality
They move freely
Branches collide
With grace
And accommodation 
As they dance in the wind.

Let us humans
Listen to the lessons 
Of the trees
As they dance in the winds of change.

Patricia O’Connor
2024

Friction Creates Strength



From the silver bun
Atop her dainty, thoughtful face
To her rhythmic feet
Dancing as one 
On the spinning wheel pedal
She enters into the work of creation

She plants seeds of tomorrow
As she tends to sheep
Grazing in the meadow
Others shear them for her
Under her watchful eye, I imagine

Raw, washed wool
Fills her basket now
Lying in bunches
It looks like matted clumps of cotton
Greyish white
With flecks of black 
From the hay in the meadow
The dirt of the soil

She pulls off a piece
So light, airy, and soft
She cards it 
Almost a caress with two brushes
Working the individual fine strands
Until they lie parallel to each other
She pulls off some for me to touch
I cannot help but stroke fibers
There is no itch
No irritation
It looks like a cirrus cloud
Delicate and wispy.

She lines up the carded wool 
Holds some tension on the gathered strands
As the spinning wheel
Powered by the choreographed movement 
of her feet 
On the treadle
Creates its own music and magic 
The bobbin pulls the fibers forward
Twisting, twisting as it goes
The fibers are joined now in a strand
Friction has created strength
No longer individual filaments
But retaining the crimp of their natural state
They twirl together uniting
To create the gift of yarn
A gift of warmth, beauty, and love.


Hope Springs Once Again!


Oh, how it gladdens my heart
To discover the green shoots
Broken through the winter earth!
Each year, I am surprised
When the snow nearest the foundation of my home
Melts away
And reveals, yet again
New Life!

The new growth emerges
From bulbs planted in prior years
Once seeming dead
Now flourishing with hope
As they radiate the promise of beauty to come.

My heart flutters
Like the wings of butterflies beating within my chest
I cannot help but smile
The sun pouring its warmth
Upon my face
Upon this new life
As it melts away winter’s remains

Take courage
Winter comes
The dark, cold days 
May lay heavily upon us
And may reappear before they are gone
But always, always
Spring follows
Let go of winter’s chill
Allow abundance to nurture your spirit
As spring’s resurrection peaks out
Through the frozen earth.

Awakening the Divine


It has been said
That love alone can awaken the divine within
Well, I am in love 
With a burrowing owl!
Each day, I am pulled
My heart strings tug wildly
Calling me to walk down to the burrows

I am delighted when I spot the owl
His squat, feathered body tucked amongst the grass. 
He sits just atop his burrow
There are particles of sand on his face
But still, he wears his chestnut and white feathers
As he stands bravely out of his safe home
Like Joseph wears his coat of many colors

I approach quietly
Creeping slowly forward
Like children returning from recess
But I am going toward excitement
Forcing myself to hold back so as not to frighten
He and I exchange glances
I speak quietly and, I hope, reassuringly
He allows me to remain
He remains
I ease myself onto the grass
Camera in hand.

Joyfully, I observe his actions
Always alert, on guard
But when he feels safe
He will look into my eyes
And I pretend he loves me, too!
His eyes register myriad emotions
Curiosity, alarm, disgust, pleasure, wisdom 
And more which I cannot read

A couple of women come jaunting up 
No kind words, no gradual entrance
The owl’s face registers alarm
He squawks 
They continue forward
He rattles 
The sound, indistinguishable from a rattle snake,
Shouts leave now!!
Do they notice his distress, I wonder
Or is he purely an exhibit
Present merely for their amusement?
They look and move on. 

And I wonder,
How did we humans come to believe
The world, nature, wildlife
Exists merely for our pleasure
For our consumption and entertainment
How can we ignore so blithely
The beauty and life
In all creation?
How can we miss the divine all around us?


Tell Me

Hi Everyone!

Sorry I have not written much here lately. I have been busy with preparing for speaking engagements and working on book number next!! Book number next has the working title “Spirit in Creation.” It is being written with a co-writer!! More to come… On Wednesday, I met with a group of people at Granite Ledges in Concord, NH. This luncheon/talk was hosted by Granite VNA and Granite Ledges. It was great to meet many of you for the first time and see others again!!

At that event, I read the poem “Tell Me”. I promised I would post it here on my blog for people to re-read as they choose. So here it is!!

Tell Me
Tell me, Sir, have you thought at all
About the end of your life?
Tell me, Ma’am, how do you envision
Your last weeks, days or moments on earth?

These questions, I know
Are heavy
Laden down, fraught with emotion

Let’s look away
Don’t go there    You say
Save that conversation for another day.

Tell me, my friend
When will that day come?
Will you wait
Until it is too late?
Might you delay
So long you have no say
Because you cannot speak.

Life is fragile
Our bodies vulnerable
Bad stuff happens
No one escapes alive

Looking away
Comes, often, with a heavy price to pay
Children argue – disagree
What would Mom want?
What would Dad say?
The decisions are hard
And often lead to conflict, grief, guilt feelings. 

Decisions made at a time of great angst
Are seldom made with careful consideration
Are often questioned, critiqued and regretted

Tell me, what would you want
If nearing the end of your life
Where would you like to be? 
What would you wish your medical care to focus on?
Would you wish to try to prolong your remaining days/weeks
Or would you wish, above all, to focus on being as comfortable and peaceful as possible?

Tell me, who do you think
Would honor your wishes?
Who do you think would be capable
Of advocating for you
Even when filled with sadness?
Tell me, and we can work on that.

Tell me, can you imagine how 
Facing these questions now
Would be a great investment 
In your future
And the future of your loved ones?

Thinking about, talking about these issues
Does not make them happen
But when they do happen
It makes life easier for everyone
It makes your life your own.

Patricia O'Connor