meandering gently through the meadow
ms
along the water’s edge
being present to all that’s around me
encountering this wasp on a milkweed leaf
sharing this world with them and
wondering, who’s watching who
Who’s Watching Who
-
Wasp perched on a milkweed -
Everything is His
Late afternoon clouds over Claymore Lake Everything is His.
Mary Oliver, Musical Notation: 2
the door, the door jamb.
The wood stacked near the door.
The leaves blown upon the path
that leads to the door.
The trees that are dropping their leaves
the wind that is tripping them this way and that way,
the clouds that are high above them,
the stars that are sleeping now beyond the clouds
and, simply said, all the rest.
When I open the door I am so sure so sure
all this will be there, and it is.
I look around.
I fill my arms with the firewood.
I turn and enter His house, and close His door. -
What sign?
The sign says “No Fishing”
ms
but…
if you look around
there are signs that people
do not read signs. -
Afternoon Storm
the afternoon storm moved
ms
onto the eastern plains
leaving behind its offering of gifts
a warm golden glow over the foothills
the sweet scent from the rain soaked meadow
a rainbow pointing to the hidden pot of gold
and needed relief from the days heat -
Predawn Pinks
Predawn pinks this morning Praying
Mary Oliver, from her book Thirst
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak. -
It’s about…
The Journey
Mary Oliver, from Dream Work
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.I usually read one or two of Mary Oliver’s poems when I go to bed. This poem called The Journey, kept me awake the other night so maybe I need to rethink that routine. Anyway, the poem rocked me because it’s asking questions that I’m still asking myself at 72 years of age. It’s about transformation of an inner journey. So, it is asking if I’m willing to take all the risks involved, if I dare listen to the voice within, to face a death of some kind, to let go to something I’ve outgrown and the birth of a new self. It’s about learning to trust myself, about leaving the bad advice and demands of other people behind and even the voice of my own insecure egoic self, and to follow my own instincts, my own path in life. What does it say to you?
Today is my 72 birthday. I will most likely spend some time with my feathered friends at one of the natural areas, have a mocha or chai, get in some reading and journaling time. Basically, I’ll continue to spoil myself, even at this age.
- gratitude, landscape, natural areas, Plants, poems, Reservoir Ridge Natural Area, shadows, sunsets, trees
Last Chorus
Horses graze as the sun sets behind old Cottonwood trees along Overland Trail I watch the sun set behind cottonwood trees while
ms
the blue sky opens to the coming darkness of night.
The long shadows of the sun stretch over the pasture
as my feathered friends sing their last chorus of the day.
I’m filled with gratitude as this day comes to an end
full of hope for the new day tomorrow. - gratitude, landscape, natural areas, Pineridge Natural Area, poems, poetic journal, poetry, sunrises, writing/reading
Morning Sanctuaries
My day begins in the sanctuary of my home.
ms
with the quiet of prayer and meditation.
Then I make my way to the sanctuary
of a local natural area.
My feathered sisters and brothers greet me as the goldfinches,
house finches, chickadees, meadowlarks, magpies,
robins, swallows all sing songs of joy this morning.
I watch their amazing aerial antics as they snatch insects in midair
or playfully chase one another from branch to branch.
My eyes catch that patient fisherman, the Great Blue Heron,
who silently wades in the shallow waters of Dixon Reservoir.
A pair of mallards cruise the waters of the reservoir
sending their delicate wavelets to shore.
A noisey crow pesters a red-tail hawk, both adrift in the baby blue sky.
Two bashful cottontails step from their hiding place
to nibble on blades of grass.
My soul now filled with nature’s delights
and the mind cleared of intrusive thoughts,
I make my way to one of my coffee shop sanctuaries.
Two young squirrels pause their wrestling
to keep a watchful eye on me as I enter this sanctuary
then scamper up a tree.
Now sitting in a favorite chair enjoying my mocha latte,
crafted with love by Emma.
I now put pen to paper in my journal
taking note of the ordinary gifts
given in my morning sanctuaries. -
Sunday morning sunrise…
Sunrise at Pineridge Natural Area this morning The new day’s light
ms
veiled behind gray clouds.
A crisp morning air caressing my soul
as I listen to nature’s silence.
A meadowlark perches on a rabbit brush,
near the water’s edge, near its nest.
Six pelicans take to the air
circling the reservoir then fly north.
A cottontail ventures from safety
to nibble on blades of grass.
Nature is comfortable with silence,
much more than man.
How easily I forget
to listen to nature’s silence.
Have a wonderful Sunday! -
I have a feeling…
Morning light entering my bedroom, casting shadows across the wall.
I see this almost daily and never tire of it.I have a feeling
Courtney Milne
That through the hole in reason’s ceiling,
In Heaven you can perch,
Without ever going to church!I really did not know about Courtney Milne until this past week. I am impressed with his photography. I was also surprised to find he has published 12 books from the conventional to the abstract. One source I read says his photos are a celebration of the world’s “sacred places,” and a seemingly endless meditation on the beauty of the natural world. Sounds like my kind of photographer. Why didn’t someone tell me about his work? One of his best-selling books is Sacred Earth, which I just ordered a used copy of. Seeing his books makes me realize how little a collection I have of other photographers books.
