Spring’s Second Day at the Zoo

26 03 2017

Spring’s Second Day at the Zoo

The real story

Is the robins.

They strut, and fight, and

Explore their urban world anew

In the softer air this second

Day. All the birds seem to know it,

That true frost is behind us –

That there is safety

In boldness.

 

The giraffe, always curious

About the humans who raised him

Stretches to greet me,

Another one passing by.

I like to think

He remembers when

I met him on my second day

Working at the zoo.

 

The siamangs huddle casually,

Still a bit sleepy and cold

But glad of the growing sunshine.

On my way back through

They are basking on a higher branch;

The sun has won them over, but

They are not yet hooting for joy.

That will come, they know;

The animals,

All of them

Adapted to a new life

Still possess the deep ways

Of season,

Of death, and therefore

Of truly living.

 





Small Things

1 09 2016

Waking up when you didn’t remember it was Saturday

The tea at just the right temperature

The first sip of coffee on a cold, tired morning

When you are alone for the first time in some time, and the room is silent

Coming home, sitting down, removing your shoes and petting the cat

Entering a house from the cold outside when a fire is in the hearth

A bee on a flower, oblivious

A butterfly wafting where you cannot

When the rain starts and the heat is broken

When the rain ends and all is new

Eating the first cherry tomato, warm from the vine

The first flower peeking through the cold ground

The cat lying in the shaft of light; a book on your lap

Taking out the finished pie

A chocolate chip cookie, still warm and melted

The first cookie of Christmas, eaten while leaning against the counter in the warm kitchen

Happening upon a brook in the forest

When you arrive at the beach and hurry out to stand before the waves

A bird landing on a low branch, inspecting you

Wildlife in the garden, unaware you are watching

Walking out of the office on the day before vacation

Christmas Eve at midnight

Christmas Day, before the house has risen

Easter morning sunlight through the church windows





Poem: The Black Mug

13 08 2016

I have adopted it as my own

– The black mug

Without design,

A simple shape

And graceful lip.

It rests in the office cabinet

Unfavored by those

With noisier tastes.

 

To me it is

Absence

Of complications ever-present,

A void

A cave

Where secret thoughts escape

The burning sun of conscription.

 

I broadcast no slogan,

No sardonic flag.

You cannot own

A pithy image,

Your co-worker in five words

Or even less.

 

I sip the black mug-

A moment of nondescription

Among tidy boxes.

I enter the void gladly

 

I escape.





Lessons from my Garden

29 06 2016

This summer began with a new development in my home garden: after the first few years of shade-gardening with native plants, a light-gap has opened in the woods from a tree falling last year, allowing me to finally pursue a dream of vegetables. My husband and I put in the small, square raised bed; I planted a modest selection of tomato, cucumber, and bell pepper plants; and we fenced it in for protection from ever-present, hungry wildlife.

The first lesson I am confronting is patience.

I believe the seemingly contradictory qualities of impatience and distraction are responsible for my long history of a black thumb. Sometimes I smother my plants with eager watering and prodding; other times, I forget my charges, and they wither from neglect. I have begun to see that vegetables are delicate; if I want any kind of yield, I have to be diligent but not clingy.

Still, as I water them daily, I purse my lips and examine the stalks (gently!) for signs of new flowers.

I also have newfound gratitude for rain. I have always loved rainy days almost more than sunny ones, but rain takes on new meaning now, a direct sign of divine providence. “No need to water today!” I think, with a sigh of contended relief. It’s work lugging the big watering can up to the light gap, far from the hose’s reach.

All this watering gives me greater respect than ever for our crops’ tremendous strain on resources. Just seeing the daily amount my four plants require easily paints a picture in my mind of that amount magnified across our groaning planet. And it occurs to me that all of us, whether omnivore or carnivore, vegetarian or vegan, should be humbled by what it takes to provide for our needs on a daily basis.

Who knew such lessons await in such humble, green places?





Just for a moment . . .

2 02 2013

Appreciate the snow for is basic beauty – the purified essence of nature; the clear, cold truth when frills of summer are stripped away.

So often, as adults, we view the snow with sardonic appraisal. Sure, it is pretty, but we stand by the window, wondering how soon we must go out to shovel.

I say, don’t shovel. Stay by the window, or better yet: turn your face to the soft flakes. Let them brush your skin. See your breath, the proof that you are so alive, and everywhere are sleeping creatures, dreaming of spring.warming hut





Children need us . . .

10 09 2011

And not in the way that we normally hear about, although there are certainly unfortunate children who need our monetary help around the world. Today, however, I saw something that got me thinking about the one thing all children need and mostly don’t get, especially in America.

I am talking about nature role models.

As I walked in my (sub)urban townhome complex today, I spied two small children milling about a uniform patch of grass under a tree. They seemed to be searching for some fun and adventure in that dull spot, as they restlessly combed the grass together. I heard their parents loudly talking through the open townhouse door nearby.

What those children need is a parent, relative or family friend to show them the fun, the adventure, the curiosities and surprises they seek. I see this often, especially so close to a city, where the suburb is really just an extension of urban nature exclusion. In homogenizing our environments for comfort, we have sterilized them of the things children intuitively know they need.

So, the next time you are around children listlessly searching for that experience they can’t define; the next time they seem antsy or declare, “I’m bored,” take them outside  and play, even if all you have is a dull patch of grass.  Look at every bug and interesting leaf. Let the children lead – they just need an adult to be excited along with them. The future of our world is, in that moment, in your own capable hands.





Pay Attention to the Sea

30 07 2011

Today I borrow from a soulful blog, From the House of Edward,  to bring you this thought. I hope it can enrich your day, whether you find yourself facing the sea in person or in your mind.

Slow down.
Notice.
Remember.
When the breeze blows in from off the sea and finds you, stop for a moment to think about the way it feels as it brushes your cheek. Remember the salty fragrance of nature’s perfume. Let your eyes gaze out over and into the blue of the water till you can see that colour behind closed eyes in your sleep.
After all, none of us can remember what we don’t notice in the first place.
*~*







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