Ephemeral beauty

So many fallen blossoms underfoot, 

Already having lived out their promise, 

On their way to dust and extinction, 

And yet I cannot bear to step on them, 

But leap across instead, 

As if they were a puddle, 

Hoping not to crush their delicate, 

Ephemeral beauty…

The play of dark and light

It’s hard to say what’s lovelier here: 

The leaves? Or the flowers? 

Each has such grace — 

 But why do we have to choose? 

For each, it is the play of dark and light; 

The textures and the colors 

That in nature, as in life, 

Offer both beauty and meaning; 

An invitation to explore, 

 As well as joy and inspiration.

Gratitude and response

A picture can’t really convey 

The magnificence of this ancient rhody, 

Which is almost two stories tall 

And blesses us with its glorious waterfall of pink 

Each year around this time; 

Nor can words truly convey 

My gratitude for this amazing gift 

And the joy that fills my heart each morning 

 As I sit and watch those pink buds 

 Turn to blossoms. 

The undemanding generosity of nature 

 Continues to astound me: 

 How can we not ache — and sacrifice— 

To protect it?

Glowing in the dark

Walking by our neighbor’s house at sundown,

 I’m surprised by how brightly this purple pops: 

In this low light, it’s practically iridescent, 

And I find I’m itching to get back home, 

To see if our apple blossoms also 

Show up better in the fading light of evening. 

There are those of us, I do believe, 

Whose true colors shine more brightly 

In darker times; 

Whose quiet worth might be otherwise easily missed.

Green and good

Apple trees blooming, 

A newly mowed lawn, 

A moon so round it stops me in my tracks 

(And wakes me up at 3am, 

Beaming love through my bedroom window) 

Life in this moment is green and good.

Hidden iceberg

From our perspective, at the top of the cliff,

 It looked as if a giant were floating underwater; 

Only his foot and toes sticking out

 (You know, of course, 

That giants only have 3 toes!) 

Sort of like an iceberg, 

Like the one we carry in our hearts — 

All the hidden thoughts and history 

That lie behind the words we speak and write; 

The secret fuel to our anger, our compassion, 

And our art…

Apple blossom time

Our apple trees are blooming, 

Their bright blossoms coloring their branches 

With rosy promises of fruit to come.

Taking that path

Looking ahead, the path seems clear, 

But then it appears to peter out: 

Should we take it anyway? 

Or live in fear 

That we’ll take the risk but then find ourselves 

Trapped at the end with nothing to do 

But turn back. 

But what will we have lost if we take that risk? 

Only time. Only time. 

 And there’s always the chance 

 The adventure will have been 

 Worth that time; 

That you might come back 

Having learned a new truth 

About how strong you can be…

Blinding preconceptions

Seen through the trees, 

 The setting sun’s reflection, 

The path it casts across the water, disappears — 

Just so, we humans, easily distracted, 

Can fail to see the fine thread that connects us 

To everyone we meet. 

When will we learn to step beyond 

The preconceptions that so often blind us 

And welcome the light and color that 

The Other can bring into our lives?

Leafy greenliness

What beauty we might detect in scenes like this 

Would depend upon our willingness to appreciate 

 The randomness, the natural arrangement 

 Of water, grass, stone and stump, 

While at the same time imagining 

(Projecting, if you will) 

Angelic or childlike creatures 

Delighting in the presence of 

A pond, the leafy greenliness of spring, 

And the warm embrace of sunlight after 

A winter’s lengthy cold and dark…

Compensation

The wind last night was churning up the waves, 

Tossing the trees 

 And hurling pine cones at our roof and windows. 

But still the sun, 

 As if to compensate for all that violence, 

Insisted on brushing all her clouds with pink; 

Put to the blush at seeing wind’s fierce temper 

Exposed.

In that liminal space

They seem to keep recurring, 

Those times when we are clearly between: 

We know — however imperfectly — 

What lies behind us; 

We can clearly tell we’ve left it behind; 

We seem to be moving forward— 

However slowly— 

But it’s not exactly clear 

What we’re moving toward, 

Or how long it might take to get there, 

Or what may await us when we finally arrive. Uncomfortable as we all tend to be 

 With uncertainty, 

It’s easy to be tempted to turn back; 

To return to the known 

 From which we walked away. 

But we need to trust 

 That the reasons for our departure are still valid, 

And what lies ahead, 

 However long it takes to get there, 

Will have something fresh and reinvigorating 

 That will help us more fully realize 

The promise of fulfillment 

 With which we’ve each been entrusted.

Feeding the future

Having carefully rid our lawn of dandelions,

 She now seeks her reward: 

How about a little cracked corn, 

Or perhaps a few tasty peanuts? 

Think of it as nourishment 

For her as yet unborn fawn…

Curse of perfection

The morning sun fashions a tapestry of lace 

Upon the window just across from me; 

A momentary gift before it rises into the scene 

And overwhelms the vibrant colors with its light, 

Just as a demand for perfection 

Might reduce the charming appeal 

Of a child’s presentation or a haphazard garden; 

A toss of flowers in a field or in the woods…

Stay the course

And on those days 

When life feels like an endless struggle,

 A path of infinite resistance, 

A desperate hanging on to keep from falling 

Backwards into a slough of despond, 

I wish you strength to stay the course, 

The courage to resist the tide of negativity 

 That threatens to overwhelm us all, 

And the grace to see beyond the struggle 

And trust that light and joy will come again.

The wall of thorns

There’s something reminiscent 

 About the choice to hide such beauty 

Behind a wall of thorns… ah yes! 

The fairy tale; Sleeping Beauty! 

But that was not the first thing to come to mind. 

Instead I pictured my daughters, 

And the ways they chose (or learned) 

To dress to mask their beauty 

 From the predators they encountered 

In the world…

Madrona skin

The evening sun casts shadows on 

The exposed skin of the Madrona, 

Which eyes me as I photograph 

The textures of its bark. 

We are old friends, the Madrona and I, 

Aging together as we stand beside 

 The sea we both have loved so many years.

A floral tribute

In gratitude to a kind friend 

Who sent my husband home 

With flowers from her garden 

(Which, unlike ours, is protected from the deer 

With a tall fence). 

In this era of division I’m reluctant 

To fence off any part of my yard 

For the message of exclusion it might send…

Impressions

My camera can’t do justice 

To the goldfinch in my yard, 

But only gives impressions 

 Of his color and his shape: 

It can’t define the texture 

 Of his feathers or his feet, 

Or convey that sense I get 

Of impending flight, 

Any more than we, from a distance, 

Can get a sense of what delineates 

One human from another; 

So much easier to make blanket 

Judgments from afar and write folks off, 

Assuming they don’t matter 

Or have nothing to offer 

Because they appear to fit 

Some preconceived stereotype…

Whimsy

There’s nothing like a little whimsy 

 To brighten someone’s day — 

Your own, of course, for listening to your heart, 

But for others, too, surprised into a healing laugh, 

Or inspired to indulge a little whimsy of their own: Permission to be and do some little thing 

That makes their own hearts sing.

May your light shine through

May the light you carry within 

Be strong enough to break through 

Any clouds that might surround you.

Spring green

A cloudy day in spring, 

And the newly leafing trees provide 

Bright contrast to the evergreens 

That decorate the hills that lie behind them.

Skunk cabbage season

It’s skunk cabbage season, 

And in marshy lowlands everywhere, 

The smelly plants 

 Are lifting their golden hoods in prayer; 

A silent cacophony of wet-footed monks 

On pilgrimage in search of warmth and sun.

Silver stream of love

There will be days when the gray hovers there, 

As if hoping to extinguish the light. 

Time to focus on the silver lining beneath it all: 

The river of love that flows through each of us.

The humble semicolon

I am told a semicolon 

 Indicates a generosity of spirit; 

A willingness to share, explain, or clarify 

Whatever statement might have preceded it — 

An extra hand, to help us 

On our way to understanding; 

A sort of waypoint, 

To help guide us on our journey — 

Much like the subtle indicators 

Nature offers to those who walk along a beach… 

(Ellipses, I am told, 

Are evidence and invitation 

To the common bond that links us together.)

Seeds of hope

It’s Easter now; 

The seeds of hope once planted 

Have emerged from winter’s tomb, 

Yet still, 

 Surrounded by the vibrant greens of spring, 

And the sweet cacophony of birdsong in the air, 

We feel the chill of stones unturned, 

Of hearts still hardened, 

Of age-old grievances that still seek vengeance. 

What sacrifice must yet be made? 

When will we learn it’s in forgiveness 

 That we will find salvation?

Illumination

The sun, in rising, colors all our world, 

Just as we, in rising to occasions 

To fulfill our calling, promise, and our destiny, 

Bring color, light, warmth and growth 

To all that we encounter 

By allowing illumination to flow through us.

Mixed emotions

We have several expectant does 

Hanging about our property, 

With mottled fur and distended bellies, 

Waiting patiently for spring, for birth, 

And for new plants, fresh grass, 

And flowers to munch on. 

Part of me is sympathetic; 

Another part is wishing they’d move on 

And go destroy someone else’s yard…

More than one way

To me, believing there’s just one way

 Is every bit as arbitrary as this sign: 

More an attempt to exert control 

Over a confusing situation 

Than an edict set in stone. 

To have the sign point in the opposite direction 

Could be equally effective:

 The unification of movement 

 Toward the objective to be reached 

Is far more important 

 Than the choice to go left or right…

Come labor on

What takes an artist 

Hours or days to bring into fruition, 

Nature replicates in multitudes, 

Offering inspiration 

With a sense of gay abandon, 

Yet still we labor on, 

Hoping that our efforts 

Might contribute to the pleasure of the senses…

Glow from within

The late afternoon sun 

Highlights my neighbor’s house 

As I walk the nearby cliff, 

And the edges of the clouds are beginning 

To take on that golden glow. 

I like to think that aging,

 As we approach that golden end of our days, 

Gives us the same glow: 

 The years of hard-won wisdom 

Glow from within…

Fun with abstracts

The fun of abstract art, 

Whether a painting or a photograph, 

Is the opportunity it offers 

 For the viewers, and their imaginations: 

Is this a tender image, protection 

Of a child or of a heart? 

Or could it be someone with a heart of stone?

 Or a portrayal of the difficult obstructions 

 That always seem to interfere with life? 

So many possibilities invite us to examine 

Why our responses differ, 

And from whence they emerge…

Bewitched by shadows

Early morning, driving by, 

After a long, gray rainy period, 

The sun’s come out, 

And I’m bewitched by the shadows. 

It’s not just the light our tired eyes need, 

Exhausted from the effort 

 Of distinguishing between all the grays; 

The shadows, too, assuage a thirst 

For clarity, for ease, for contrast, 

For clear causality, and for the echoes of beauty

To make a wider mark across the land.

Art or craft?

I recently read that those who plan their art, 

Then execute, are craftspersons, 

And that those who begin with a question 

And let it lead to discovery are artists. 

So which am I if I stand at the cliff each day 

To see what colors the sunset will bring?

Spring sweetness

Spring brings such simple pleasures:

 Sunlight, birdsong, daffodils glowing, 

The sweet scent of a newly mowed lawn…

Lemonade from lemons

Three deer were gathered 

Just beyond my window — 

Bucks, without their horns, 

So I was waiting for a fight, 

But no: they were just grooming one another, 

So I thought — well, that’s a picture — 

But it’s been a long and salty winter 

And my windows were quite filthy: 

In full sunlight, the dirt was distracting 

For my camera lens, which only gathered shapes. 

Enter Photoshop: add some color, 

Add some raindrops and some circles, 

And now, though it’s not perfect, 

There’s the hope: that some might call it art!

An offering of peace

Though winter’s drained the fields of color, 

The balance of the scene remains the same:

 The silo’s height, the taller trees, 

The mountains in the distance — 

All catch our eyes as we drive by, 

An offering of peace in a challenging week.

Evening song

A burst of color in the evening sky 

 And the day draws to a close. 

Whatever stresses we’ve encountered, 

Whatever pains, whatever joys 

May not subside, but will be softened 

By the soothing wand of sleep. 

Fluff the pillows, let it go: 

Any resolution needed 

Can be put off till the morning. 

Close your eyes and step into your dreams.

Structure

One thing experience taught me 

Early on, in a troubled marriage, 

Is that — for me, at least —there is 

 More freedom within structure. 

So it should be no surprise to discover 

Echoes of that lesson in my paintings: 

However freely I swing my brush, 

I always seem to want to add definition; 

The verticals and horizontals 

Seem to give my eyes and heart 

A safe place to land.

Sunset returns

And now, at last, earth’s orbit’s placed us 

Back in sight of the sunset’s path, 

And we rejoice again to see 

Her glorious color enrich our world.

The lonely road

Some roads there are 

That must be walked alone: 

Whether long or short, 

The steps you take will be at your own pace; 

You’ll only see what your eyes are willing 

To drink in at the expense of thoughts; 

Only hear the sound of birds and waves 

If you can tune out the sounds of your own 

Fears and reminiscences; 

Only have the strength to keep on going 

If you remember to breathe...

Beyond the storm

It can be hard to remain calm 

 With the dark clouds looming; 

Easier to succumb to the doom and gloom.

 But though it’s wise to prepare 

For the troubles that may arise,

 Let’s try to maintain focus 

On the possibilities and hope that lie hidden 

 Just beyond the impending storm.

Persist!

If there are barriers,

 Keeping you from where you wish to go, 

Keep walking: eventually you’ll find 

A way around the obstacles: 

A gate, a bridge, a path to your objective.

Cloud gratitude

I delight in the endless complexity of clouds:

 The fact that so much beauty happens 

 Without input from me 

Calms and reassures me: 

There’s so much out there, still, to be grateful for,

 Despite all the troubles in the world…

2021

I don’t believe I noticed 

At the time I took this picture 

 How perfectly it captures 

The mood of 2021; 

The quiet desolation 

Of a year in isolation 

With no immediate prospect 

 Of a viable future 

And hope slowly dying on the vine…

Nature’s art

All nature is an artist, 

Far more industrious than we, 

As her work’s always evolving, 

And her galleries are everywhere we look.

On empathy

Watching through the snow 

As the deer graze on our lawn, 

I shiver a bit in sympathy for them, 

Standing in the cold. 

I don’t, however, believe 

 That that’s my mirror neurons firing; 

It’s just simple projection; 

Imagination at work. 

True empathy goes deeper, 

Resonating in the heart, 

 And somehow working to erase 

The barriers between us; overriding separation,

 Awakening awareness of our shared unity

And leading us to ache for their predicament 

As fully as we rejoice in their joy.

Being present

The frost accentuates 

Each vein that once gave life and structure 

To this dead leaf, whose ghostly appearance 

Calls to me as I cross the lawn 

In hopes of photographing the sunrise. 

How easy it is to miss the gifts of the present 

While focusing on the future; 

How easy it is, to miss the potential gifts, 

The broadening of perspective we might gain, 

By planning how we might respond 

Instead of being fully present 

And listening to what others have to say…

Collapsible

Our neighborhood shares a cliff walk — 

The remnants of a long ago road 

 That fell into the sea a few decades back. 

But like so much of the life that we love, 

It is vulnerable: the fierce winds and rain 

Of the previous weekend 

 Have claimed another foot of its border. 

Though the path is still there, and still safe, 

Way down below, on the beach, we can see 

The remains of the trees 

 That once stood at its edge, and we gasp 

With the shock of it: How the mighty have fallen…

Have pity

My cat supervises 

 The snow-coated raccoon 

 Through a window dripping 

 With wet fallout from the sky, 

Annoyed, as always, 

 To be sharing his kibble with this stranger. 

But how can we not take pity 

On those who are cold and wet 

And without shelter?