Sitting on cool granite
Sun streaming warmth upon me
Capturing an image of a stalwart baby pine
Relishing the peace
The beauty
The generous gifts of nature
I drink deeply of healing mountain air
Startled then
Panting
Rapid panting
A warm body pressed against my back
Wetness now on the back of my arm
Twisting my neck
Only to see a snout,
Brindle coat wrapped tightly
Encasing protruding ribs
She was not seeking attention in the way of other dogs
But neither was she acting aggressively
She just kept returning
Seemingly wanting proximity
Remaining nearby
A black lab joined her
Antennae attached to a collar
Hip bones visible through midnight coat
Panting
Asking for what?
Petting seems foreign to them both
Neither good nor bad
Not insisting upon nor rejecting
They remain nearby
The lab choosing to squeeze between my friend’s chair and mine
Again, and again.
Choosing confined space
Over the open acres surrounding us on this mountain
Eventually she responds to touch
Leaning in, asking for more
Shyly though
Garmin collars banded around their necks
Working dogs
Digging into wet soil
Seeking refreshment
A truck barrels up the mountain road
Our companions respond to a whistle
Back to work
Be safe my new friends
Be safe
Shattered Silence
Saddened Soul
Did they feel love?
If only for a moment
Did they know love?
Hey, little pine tree!
Growing here upon this granite outcropping
Stretching up toward the sun
Surviving the wind
Thriving despite imperfect soil
A beautiful display
Of luscious green
Bending gently with the wind
Your branches speak of strength
Sturdiness and resilience
Hey little pine tree!
What lessons might I learn
If I but pay attention?
My dad kept popping up in my thoughts
I was planning a summer picnic
More than once, when asked who was coming
I included my dad.
In fact, I said,
“And, of course, dad!”
The summer family picnic
Was always held in August
To celebrate dad’s birthday
He loved the get togethers in his honor
I was not the only one being “visited”
Tom and I were watching a favorite show
When he said,
“We’ll have to call your dad
And tell him there is a new season of Father Brown!”
Whoops!
Dad had been gone for over a year.
So, it was fitting what came to the Viburnum
A Viburnum grows just outside the kitchen window
It is my favorite of all our bushes
In the spring, the delicate white flowers bloom
And a beautiful scent wafts into the kitchen
Sweet, while complex
I so enjoy it as I stand at the sink
Or walk by on the sidewalk
This gift of nature only lasts a couple of weeks
But I anticipate it
From the first arrival of the tiny green shoots.
The beloved Viburnum offers more than beauty
More than its stunning aroma
It is the staging bush for our feathered friends
Each fall, a chickadee alights upon a branch right outside the window
He calls to me until I take notice
Asking that I fill the feeder
We argue every year
I am certain the bears are still awake
He is indignant
The pickings are getting slimmer as the cold sets in
He wants those black sunflower seeds!
However, in August
There are no feeders out
The Viburnum often sits empty
But not that afternoon
As I stood soaping the pans,
My eye caught movement in the bush
The male cardinal!
He looked in the window at me
Lovingly, I swear, lovingly
Filled with joy, but ever demanding
I silently asked,
“Why don’t you ever bring mom?”
Further movement a couple of branches away
Drew my attention
There she sat
In all her female bird subdued beauty
Pale brown with warm reddish tinges in the wings, tail and crest
Black face and red-orange bill
She gazed in the window
Looking back into those deep eyes
My heart lifted further
As, filled with love and gratitude
Tears dropping into the dishwater
I gave thanks
“You brought her!
You are together”
Alleluia!
The sky beckons
My gaze upward
The pillows of white
Invite comfort
Invite peace
The blue calls out clarity
Purity
Fragility
The sky beckons
My gaze upward
The cascading water
Calls out adventure
Join the fun
Take the plunge
The waters
Join, merge
As they frolic
Down the riverbed
Cool, refreshing
Rushing along
Going somewhere
Jump in for the ride
Which way to turn?
A few times
Maybe more than a few
Okay, a big handful of times
Tears have come unbidden
They have flowed recklessly
Defying my commands
Unhidden by my wiping hands
They have poured out
From a place deeper
Than my mind
Beyond my reach.
Tears of the Spirit.
9/11 Memorial Service
The first responders
Dressed in their finest
Police, Fire, EMTs
NH Towns from all over
And, running in,
A bit late
Filling the void in the back row
Even NYPD.
At my first sight of the solemn columns of blue
Coming forward in step
Silently marching in
Filling in the emptied bay
In the Firehouse garage
Facing the children
Who are readying their speeches
Their song
Their recitation of the National Anthem.
These representatives of the heroes
The people who emboided love
and walked into
The burning towers that day
And still every day
To save others
Whom they do not even know.
It was the beauty of that love
The caring for fellow humans
NYC opening its heart
All that and more
That called forth my tears
Beyond words
But not beyond the language of tears.
The program had ended
I thought the tears were over,
Then I glanced down
And beheld
The black electrician’s tape
Holding on the sole
Of the patent leather shoe.
The soul held on by tape.
How fragile, how vulnerable
How humble
How human.
Sunrise on Little Sunapee
Each morning
Everywhere
It gently, slowly appears
Over the eastern horizon
Glowing faintly at first
A mere hint
Of what is to come
As it begins to
Illuminate the receding night sky.
Hope appears in much the same manner
Nudges which are barely detected
Glimmers seen, then not
Little surges of excitement
Barely acknowledged
Fearing they are not real, will not last.
But as we wait
And watch
In the reverence of morning
As birds awaken
And chirp their greetings and
The mist races across
The mirrored surface of the lake
A refreshing chill is offered by the morning breeze
As the faint glow expands,
An orange globe
Announces the day
The sky applauds with color
The clouds decorate the heavens
And it is
All reflected in the quiet of the resting lake
Hope can be found in each new day
As the fish jump for joy
The spillway bubbles its mirth and
The mist rises as the warming rays reach down.
Listen
Be still
Receive the message
Of the morning sky.
Oh, Happy Day!
The heirloom tomato seeds have sprouted
The first set of real leaves are present
It’s time!!
They get to stretch their branches
Sink further their roots
Even sprout adventitious roots
As they are planted into new rich soil
In their new homes.
But there is angst
Dwelling with joy
Mingling with life.
It seems accidental seeds
Were planted
There are sets of twins
Cohabiting in one bed
Growing side by side
Nearly Siamese in appearance.
Sadness clenches my throat
(Embarrassing to admit, yes!)
I must make a decision
Which one lives?
Do I try to save both?
Logic – rational thought
Tells me
“Cut off the weaker plant at its base.
Don’t disturb the roots”
The voice of reason admonishes
“You have too many plants already!”
A voice I call love
Speaks quietly
“If you separate them
Trying to save both
They both may die.”
I laugh silently
At my “dilemma”
Wishing in a way
That I was not so sensitive
To the life of a seedling
When there are such
Bigger problems
In our suffering world.
I decide to separate one set of twins
Giving them each a chance to survive
I mark their new containers - “Separated twin”
Call it science.
Then I move on to another pair
I press out the cube of starter soil
Planning to sacrifice the weaker plant
When Voila!
The soil plug breaks apart
Leaving the twins fully separated
I am relieved of the burden of choice!
As I continue to work in the dirt,
I reflect
On the pain suffered daily
As women make choices of far greater significance
Wherever one might position oneself
On the debate,
I wonder, can we agree
These women
Who face their own momentous decisions
For reasons unknown to us
Reasons which dwell deeply in their hearts
These women
Deserve our compassion
Deserve our love?
We know not their grief
We know not their struggle.
But may they know our love.
May they know our compassion.
The trees stand sentry
Offering themselves
As holders of the bodies
The earth, dry and dusty,
Hardened clay
Or fertile soil
Lies ready
To receive,
To embrace
The boxed bodies.
The flowers contribute their beauty
Brightly colored
Spreading scent of life
Hiding ugliness of death.
What do I have to give?
Can my tears soothe from afar?
Can they heal or comfort
Our broken world?
When will it end?
Lives stolen
Violently
Guns
Rifles
Destruction
Hate
Out of control
When will it stop?
Innocent people slaughtered
The world over
Leaders choosing
War, greed, guns
Over people
NRA buying politicians
“I will protect your right to have guns. Any guns. Any guns.”
But they know not how
To protect our children
Children going to school
Picking up siblings at a home
People walking down the street
Enjoying parties, bars, churches
Time together
Gunned down.
Violence running rampant
Running free
While people are imprisoned behind walls trying to stay safe.
All races suffering
Some more than others
So much more
But we are all
The Human Race
WE weep for all
We get angry
We are confused
Powerless
What can be done?
The powers that be
In our country
Are stymied, stalemated
Political loyalty
To an ideology
Blinding itself to the suffering
The endless tears shed
When will it stop?
Maybe, when we pause
Pause
Search our hearts
What is our role?
What gift might we bring to healing?
Remove the cynical scales of protection
The visors blocking our light
Speak for love, compassion
Shout out your, “No More!”
We must groan together
To be heard
People in power
Have you No Power?
No Courage?
No Heart?
Stand in front of these bullets.
Feel the pain,
The loss, the senseless violence.
Stand beside the children
Stand with the mentally ill
Support, treat, make safe.
Weed the life's garden
Of this invasive violence.
It is taking over
Choking out the good.
Pull the roots
Give room for new life.
Our tears are shed
To soothe pain
To nurture life
To acknowledge
That we are all one
.
In this Fragile Human Family.
We must find a way.
Crumbs for the Journey 