• poems

    Facing the Coming Storms

    We will be known as a culture that feared death
    and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
    for the few and cared little for the penury of the
    many. We will be known as a culture that taught
    and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
    little if at all about the quality of life for
    people, for dogs, for rivers. All
    the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
    commodity. And they will say that this structure
    was held together politically, which it was, and
    they will say also that our politics was no more
    than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
    the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
    was small, and hard, and full of meanness.

    Mary Oliver
    Red Bird (2008)

    I’ll begin by saying it seems the majority of the world does not have the ability to develop relationships, even with themselves. I’m not sure I could 20 years ago. There is more focus on ourselves, our wants and a fear of losing what we already have. Relationships ask us to step out of our comfort zones and change. Thus, we have a world in constant turmoil and conflict with seemingly few solutions and people become disheartened. 

    I have changed throughout my life and hopefully for the better. Some changes have come from pain and suffering and some from asking questions that uncover self-knowledge already within me. I attribute some of that to my journaling. Many of those pages are filled with questions. Wonderfully each question leads to another question and another and another…. Can I look for the similarities in others rather than differences? Can I accept that I am not the center of the universe but a small, significant part of all of creation? Can I have the courage to believe others may have more to teach me than I have to teach them, requiring me to always remain a student? Can I believe peace starts within me, the small world I can touch and then spreads outward, not the other way? Can I be willing to take action in my life to stand up against any neglect, abuse, and stigmatization of all creation? Can I respect all of life? Can I change my way of living without expecting the rest of the world to change with me? I’ve become a firm believer that once there is a psychic change within anyone’s life they and the world around them change. And, what about this thing called forgiveness? How well do I forgive? Contrary to some, true change always starts with me! Having said that, can I now, like the mosquito in a tent, believe that I can make an impact on the world no matter how insignificant that may seem? Am I willing to take the risk to change, to be attacked by those who cannot relate or maybe unwilling to change themselves? History has shown that some have paid a high price when they change or suggest that we can change. We call them prophets. So, instead of living with a heart that is small, hard and full of meanness, I am seeking a larger heart that is soft and full of love. Can I believe my few words and actions can bring about change? Can I be the tree that stands on the ridge facing the storms of life?

  • clouds,  horizons,  landscape,  nature,  poems

    Refreshed

    There is a place where the town ends,
    and the fields begin.
    It’s not marked but the feet know it,
    also the heart that is longing for refreshment
    and, equally, for repose.

    Mary Oliver, Boundaries from her book Red Bird

    I enjoy my little excursions to what Mary calls in her poem a place where town ends. I am also aware I frequent them more often. I’m seldom conscious of when I cross that unmarked line and things change. But, I do feel it in my body as it gradually relaxes. I believe nature is lovingly offering me (and all of us) a place of rest and tranquility within her embrace. What I see, hear, smell, and feel are enhanced. I gently find myself feeling a part of nature. Even refreshed!

  • clouds,  poems

    A Cloud

    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

    William Wordsworth (1802)
  • Avian,  meadowlark,  poems,  poetry,  silence

    After the Last Note

    I leave the chaos to enter the sanctuary of nature,
    aware this spiritual life is about our experiences.

    I listen as the meadowlark sings from their heart,
    the wind carrying their notes to all who will listen.

    I learn, after the last note fades into the past,
    to stay present, just as the meadowlark,
    listening to the gift of silence.

    mws

    I saw two extraordinary events yesterday afternoon at Pineridge Natural Area. While scanning the area with my binoculars I watched a large raptor, which I believe was a Golden Eagle, flying straight at me with a prairie dog in their talons. Golden Eagles are common in the area but this was my first sighting of one. Later, while journaling on the bench about the eagle there was an increase of chatter among the magpies just below me. I looked up from writing and see a bobcat. This was the first one I’ve seen in this area even though there are several in the area. I took no photos, just memories that remain in the present! Enjoy your weekend!

  • Avian,  poems

    Listen With Their Hearts

    the meadowlark sings his song
    from it’s perch atop an old fence post

    what seems to be just a melody to some
    is a beautiful song of love and hope

    a gift carried by the wind to those
    who will listen with their hearts

    mws
  • clouds,  horizons,  landscape,  poems,  poetry,  storm clouds

    The voices of the rain…

    “I close my eyes and listen to the voices of the rain.”

    Robin Wall Kimmerer

    The wind blows in my face. Mesmerized, I watch, listen and accept the day’s gift from nature. I am privileged and grateful to have this front row seat. I watch the sun’s rays break through clouds, reaching down and touching the earth. I watch rain fall from the dark ominous clouds releasing their gift that nourishes the land. I watch the wind constantly reshaping the clouds, carrying them along the mountains. I watch the grass dancing excitedly in the wind in front of me. I am too far away to hear the voices of the rain but I do close my eyes and listen to the voice of the wind, urging me to dance with the grass. How can I not be filled with awe and wonder, holding them tightly on this Earth Day 2024.

    A Prayer on Earth Day 2024 

    We give thanks for Your gifts of awe, wonder and beauty.
    For Your voice heard in the winds of each season,
    the meadowlark’s song, the rumble of thunderstorms,
    the undulations of the ocean’s waves,
    the silence heard in a spring snowstorm,
    and especially for the fruits of Your bounty
    that sustains all of life.

    May we always be aware there are no political solutions
    to our spiritual problem of indifference and the abuse we cause.
    But may we know we are chosen stewards,
    whose task it is to live in harmony with all of creation.

    May we live every day in celebration and gratitude of life! 
    May we allow You to transform us in the very ground of our being.
    And, may the Great Mystery of all life fill us with love.

    mws

  • flowers,  Plants,  poems

    A Beautiful Spring Day

    inspired by a beautiful spring day
    I caught the Max to campus

    with an iced chai, I found a spot surrounded
    by the quiet of the campus courtyard

    soaking in the silence, I began listening
    and writing words in my journal

    abruptly, the quiet became chaos
    as students poured out of classrooms

    now surrounded by every size, shape, color
    of student and backpack imaginable

    conversations exploded everywhere,
    gossip, tales from last night and laughter.

    then gently, peace and quiet returned
    as everyone moved on to their next period.

    and in this quiet I wondered,
    how many saw the daffodils?

    mws
  • Avian,  landscape,  meadowlark,  poems

    For Solitude

    A meadowlark perched on the fence sings from the light of its soul

    May you recognize in your life the presence,
    power and light of your soul.

    May you realize that you are never alone,
    that your soul in its brightness and belonging
    connects you intimately with the rhythm of the
    universe.

    May you have respect for your own individuality and
    difference.

    May you realize that the shape of your soul is
    unique, that you have a special destiny here,
    that behind the facade of your life
    there is something beautiful and eternal happening.

    May you learn to see your self
    with the same delight,
    pride, and expectation
    with which God sees you in every moment.

    John O’Donohue from “To Bless the Space Between Us”