I don’t know how it will end. I know it will never end. All is life and death, famine and glut.
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If we could do it—
receive with grace what is given
without busying ourselves
in the name of deserving…
I could feel it, that feeling again. The same one I get each time. Not I hope I find something or maybe I’ll find something but rather, there is something.
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A river will bite
at the bank that bars its way.
Backed up against the wall of itself…
Those first lines
now forgotten,
hidden in the blinding green,
lost in the flurry of life’s business…
Between earth and air
lies the language of sun,
speaking,
responding in clouds.
There should be one
for the moment I saw her
through a telescope
and cried…
The kingfisher chooses a perch from which to call and be heard. I choose this perch when I need to listen.
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When gifted an early morning,
when something wakes you, holds you
in its pre-dawn hand and will not let you go…
Maybe this is a fairytale with a happy, only slightly macabre, ending.
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and while I’ve been waiting
for the rain, anticipating
the return of the creek’s fine running
now it’s here I wish…
The praying mantis stood up
and waved his thin front leg, searching for a foothold,
looking for a way out of this mess.
Sailing ahead down the tar-sealed road,
a shadow, wide-winged and languid.
Seagull and sun behind me
pull like a kite on invisible string.
I found this beautiful video created by Dennis Hlynsky showing the flight patterns of birds and insects.
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This summer my daughter and I read The Borrowers…
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So it comes away in layers,
flakes and falls like bark.
Not the single slice you hoped for,
not that clean cut you wanted…
There is more here than can be grasped in two hands,
a world too large to throw our arms around…
To see clouds, you have to look up.
You have to take your eyes off your feet
and stop, or risk falling.
The sunrise fills a valley the way I teach my children
to sweep, reaching out as far as you can
Hang out the sheets
and take off your shoes…