Oh do you have time
Mary Oliver, “Invitation,”
to linger
for just a little while
out of your busy
and very important day
for the goldfinches
that have gathered
in a field of thistles
for a musical battle,
to see who can sing
the highest note,
or the lowest,
or the most expressive of mirth,
or the most tender?
Their strong, blunt beaks
drink the air
as they strive
melodiously
not for your sake
and not for mine
and not for the sake of winning
but for sheer delight and gratitude –
believe us, they say,
it is a serious thing
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in the broken world.
I beg of you,
do not walk by
without pausing
to attend to this
rather ridiculous performance.
It could mean something.
It could mean everything.
It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote:
You must change your life.
- gratitude, landscape, Mary Oliver, natural areas, Pineridge Natural Area, poems, sunrises, writing/reading
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Morning at the Reservoir
quiet morning at the reservoir
ms
calm water mirrors predawn sky
as the sun nears the horizon
the meadow begins to come alive
song birds fill the nights silence
crescent moon surrenders to day
dark shadows give way to light
cherish this gift of awe and wonderI brought out the blue in this image, which makes it look unreal, so we could see the crescent moon better in the upper right corner. Interesting that I didn’t even see the moon when taking the image. 😁Have a great Sunday!
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Today’s Gifts
I start my day with quiet time
before planning the tasks ahead
and now a mocha at a favorite shop.Always have my camera, my journal,
my fountain pens and now-a-days
the needed reading glasses.I write to start the day slowly
not rushing blindly forward or the
day cannot be lived to its fullest.I write to find words that help
ms
lead me one step at a time for
words that become today’s gifts. -
Full of Beans
I wish I was twenty and in love with life
Mary Oliver
and still full of beans.
Onward, old legs!
There are the long, pale dunes; on the other side
the roses are blooming and finding their labor
no adversity to the spirit.
Upward, old legs! There are the roses, and there is the sea
shining like a song, like a body
I want to touch
though I’m not twenty
and won’t be again but ah! seventy. And still
in love with life. And still
full of beans. -
Listen to the Wind
Listen to the wind
Native American Saying
it talks
Listen to the silence
it speaks
Listen to your heart
it knows.I’m learning to enjoy the silence of nature as I take time each day to listen in nature.
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Use Words Wisely
Words. So powerful. They can crush a heart, or heal it. They can shame a soul, or liberate it. They can shatter dreams, or energize them. They can obstruct connection, or invite it. They can create defenses, or melt them. We have to use words wisely.
Jeff BrownAfter years of journaling I’ve come to understand the shortcomings of words to express much of what we think and experience of life. There are thousands of books written in prose and poetry in our attempt to express thoughts, ideas, concepts, feelings, or define a single word. For thousands of years man has attempted to put into words what and who God is. Some feel they have found the answer. I don’t have that same feeling. It’s a mystery!
Since my teenage years, and maybe earlier than that, I have asked those deep questions: how was I created and why? How did it all start and why and by whom? Who is God? Is there a God? If there is a God why would God create then punish what is created? All questions I believe we cannot define or comprehend. Nor can words define the fragrance of a rose. Words fall short.
My journaling is a collection of letters and prayers addressing questions to my deeper self, that essence of who I really am. For me the name, definition or comprehension of the word god is not as important as experiencing the reality of something Divine through nature, my journals, my meditation, all experiences in life.
Meister Eckhart says, “God is above all a reality to be experienced from within.” I’m well aware of the inadequacy of my words to express my experiences or fully articulate the questions. What is important is asking of questions. So, through this blog and my journaling I’m learning to use words wisely.
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Reflections
“Sometimes I need
Mary Oliver
only to stand
wherever I am
to be blessed.”This morning I drove out near the Arapaho Bend Natural Area and parked along Horsetooth Road to listen to the meadowlarks and red-winged blackbirds. Watched several red-tailed hawks perched atop old cottonwood trees searching out breakfast menu. I am posting this image because of the tree reflections in the water and the rising morning sun. Almost no wind gave the water a glass like look. Have a wonderful weekend!
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Listen with my inner ear
clouds speak with brilliance
ms
telling of the day that was given
watching silent sunset on the farm
may I never be too busy
to listen with my inner ear“Poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we predicate our hopes and dreams toward survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought. The farthest horizons of our hopes and fears are cobbled by our poems, carved from the rock experiences of our daily lives.” Audre Lorde
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Broken World
it is a serious thing
Mary Oliver
just to be alive
on this fresh morning
in this broken world.Violence never brings peace nor does it solve problems in our world. It’s insanity when we think fixing a broken world or disturbed mind can be accomplished through violence. It’s insanity when some keep trying it again and again. It’s insanity when we encourage such thinking. It’s insanity when we fail to speak up against it. There is another way.
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Bought a New Book
On Meditating, Sort Of
Mary Oliver (From Blue Horses)
Meditation, so I’ve heard, is best accomplished
if you entertain a certain strict posture.
Frankly, I prefer just to lounge under a tree.
So why should I think I could ever be successful?
Some days I fall asleep, or land in that
even better place — half asleep — where the world,
spring, summer, autumn, winter —
flies through my mind in its
hardy ascent and its uncompromising descent.
So I just lie like that, while distance and time
reveal their true attitudes: they never
heard of me, and never will, or ever need to.
Of course I wake up finally
thinking, how wonderful to be who I am,
made out of earth and water,
my own thoughts, my own fingerprints —
all that glorious, temporary stuff.









