Devotion

And if the question were to be asked, 

“To what are you devoted?” 

What might be your response? 

There are so many possibilities: 

Some start with the word “my” — 

My family, my health, my garden or my art — 

Or other, broader, “my’s” — 

My church, my faith, my party, 

 My community, or my country— 

 While others start outside ourselves: 

To beauty, truth, compassion, peace, 

And then the question must become, 

“What form does that devotion take?” 

What does it mean to treasure or to care for?

Protect the young

How can we not feel protective of our young? 

That innocent gaze is irresistible.

Morning fog

With foghorns mourning 

 In the gray and emptied distance, 

My eye turns away from the shoreline 

To the garden I tend to ignore 

And I celebrate the simple charm 

 Of plants that choose to bloom 

Without my interference, 

When so much else in my world cries out 

For thoughtful intervention …

Promise of hope

The moon shines orange 

Through the grasping, chaotic branches; 

A promise of hope and light 

Once we struggle past 

 This dark corner of our lives.

Be your best self

See how this tree leans, 

Yet still produces blossoms 

That ignite the neighborhood? 

We don’t have to be perfect; 

We can still make a difference 

By just being the best we can be.

Reminiscing…

Somehow this picture captures 

The idyllic family vacations of my childhood - 

Not that we ever had one like this: 

We went to beaches, not lakes or ponds, 

And my mom never cooked outside. 

But it was just the three of us, 

And there was that sense of joy, 

And there was faith, 

And regular church attendance, 

And a sense of quiet peace — you know, 

“God’s in his heaven, 

All’s right with the world.”

Alight with love

Let each of us be alight with love 

To guide others safely home.

From a distance

Like our cat, who prefers to view the world 

From the highest possible perch, 

The eagles like to scan the shore 

 From the top of our tallest tree— 

A model of behavior often advocated 

By my organizational behavior instructors. 

“Go to the balcony,” they used to say, 

And “Don’t get stuck in the weeds,” 

For, as Bette Midler used to sing,

 “From a distance, we are instruments, 

Marching in a common band,

 Playing songs of hope, 

Playing songs of peace, 

The songs of every man.”

Time’s distance

It’s a truism, of course, 

That distance makes things seem smaller: 

Here’s proof — did you even notice 

Mount Baker in the distance, 

The lone seagull amid the cormorants 

On the dock? 

Time’s distance works in similar ways: 

Not only grief and pain, but also joy;

 In fact all memories may fade, 

Though never disappear, 

Lost only to those not present 

For the actual experience. 

The stories may remain, 

 But impact lessens over time 

Until we seem to have no choice 

But to repeat ancient mistakes.

Morning pick-me-up

Drink them in, 

The colors of the morning, 

And allow them to revitalize your day; 

To make it sparkle 

With possibility and hope.

Starlings

The starlings are back, 

Chittering in the trees 

While my husband replenishes the feeder, 

Then swooping down to decimate it again, 

Their legendary greed 

 Leaving smaller birds hungry as they feast.

Beauty

Back in the early 2000’s, 

When I still sold my photos in galleries, 

I took a book of my best work 

To a portfolio review session, 

Hoping to be invited to show more broadly, 

And I remember the reviewer 

Turned up her nose and said,

 “These are just beauty shots. 

The best you can hope for 

Is to sell them to resellers,

 To use as illustrations.” 

 I remember being asked 

At a gallery opening 

 For a show of my photographs,

 “What camera do you use?

 I’m sure I could get photos this good 

If I had a camera like yours.” 

 I’ve been shooting with my phone ever since, 

And giving those pics away Every day. 

What beauty we can find 

In this oh-so-troubled world 

Is solace, and deserves to be shared.

Stop the world

It’s true: some days you just wanna say 

“Stop the world. I want to get off,” 

When it feels like everything’s going wrong 

And hurtling toward disaster. 

But we can’t, and it isn’t — not really, 

It’s just that we need some time and space 

To rest our wings and find our way back 

To center.

In the zone

So grateful for the days 

When art comes easily; 

When the creative spirit flows 

Onto the canvas 

And there are no voices in my head 

To make suggestions

 Or murmur questions; 

To criticize or question 

 Each decision that I make…

Blessings

Wishing you a peaceful, 

Compassionate, and productive day.

The joys of imperfection

When will we learn 

That there is beauty in imperfection; 

That it adds texture to the ordinary, 

Individuality to the commonplace 

And character to the face?

 Seek not to be perfect, 

But to be true to yourself 

And to your unique experience of life.

Spring, returning

Astonishing though it may seem, 

Spring seems to be returning: 

The cherry blossoms bloom, 

Beside the pink house once again,

 And the daffodils are springing up,

 Lifting their golden crowns 

In defiance, though the winter winds 

Still dust our lawns with frost. 

Hearts everywhere are warming, 

And smiles of greeting flourish 

As we emerge from hibernation.

That which binds us

That which binds us to the past

May seem outdated, rusticated, 

Yet despite their age, 

The old truths and admonitions 

 Still hold valid: the Golden Rule, 

The Ten Commandments, 

Our Constitution, 

The disciplines of Lent — 

All carry wisdom we’d be foolish to ignore.

The appeal of fog

I’ve always loved the way that fog 

 Can imbue a simple scene 

With magic and mystery. 

Why is it that a mental fog 

Is so much less appealing?

The majesty of clouds

There’s something so breathtaking 

 About the infinite majesty of clouds. 

It makes my heart soar.

On loneliness

There are moments in a life 

When the loneliness of the human condition 

Breaks our hearts; 

When the path to redemption 

Seems dry and empty; 

Our only companions 

Bare thorned branches of remorse.

Be the rock

You can choose to be the rock; 

To let the waves of drama 

Brush against you,

 But to block them, hold them back, 

So the lives you touch beyond you 

Aren’t disturbed, but continue 

Calm and peaceful.

Greet the new week

With hearts open and arms outstretched 

We greet the new week, 

Full of hope and awaiting joy.

A valentine for the broken-hearted

It seems appropriate to post 

This, my most recent painting,

 On Valentine’s Day, 

Even though it seems to me 

A bit broken-hearted; 

Perhaps a bit discouraged. 

Perhaps it’s a way of sending 

 A message of love and companionship 

To all who may be broken-hearted, 

In hopes that, in the end, 

Love will prove triumphant …

Traps on a truck

Traps on a truck! 

Sounds like a swear word, 

Which would certainly capture my mood of late, 

Yet doesn’t begin to describe 

The charm of all these colors and lines. 

As Garrison Keillor used to say, 

To an English major (or a photographer) 

Everything is material! 

(And I say: beauty is everywhere)

Just rocks

I know. It’s just rocks; 

Why take — or show — a photo of just rocks? 

But something about the light, 

The way two small rocks shelter in the cleft, 

While also being singled out 

And lifted up as offerings; 

The way the others shelter in the shadow… 

Isn’t this what size and power 

Were meant to do? 

To support and protect the small and weak; 

Not to overcome?

Tea party

I imagine them gathering, 

In the late afternoons, 

For a bit of tea and gossip 

About things they have observed, 

Studiously ignoring 

The human who stands nearby 

While at the same time hoping 

She might feed them…

The urge to protect

The madrona stands out 

In a forest of evergreens 

As a naked woman would in a ballroom: 

All the ruffles and lace fade into oneness 

Against the bare vulnerability of skin — 

Awakening, unbidden, the urge to protect, 

As would a child, under threat from bullies. 

May that urge to protect 

 Always overwhelm the need for power.

A parable for today

Though the sun rose, as always, in the east, 

The east was overtaken 

By a vast, thick bank of clouds,

 And so the west offered to serve 

As a canvas for the colors 

Which had nowhere else to go, 

And together they brought beauty, spice, 

And vitality to the sky and all it touched.

Iridescence

The miracle of iridescence 

Feels like spirit, or love, 

Or creativity: so vibrant and alive; 

Incandescent, unpredictable, 

Yet possible if we are patient 

And can learn to watch and wait 

Til what looks green in one moment 

Turns in another 

To purple, blue, or teal 

While the yellow, brown, and orange 

Remain unchanged.

The Power of Love

It’s just a simple potting shed, 

But mother Nature’s special effects — 

The fog, and glorious sunsets — 

Infuse it with mystery and beauty.

 It’s love, I believe, 

That has that same effect on us humans…

Are we losing our way?

Some days it feels 

Like the guides we created 

To keep us on the straight and narrow 

And out of the weeds 

Have grown fuzzier and slipperier with time 

And may eventually disappear 

For lack of maintenance 

Or lack of use — 

 And does it even matter which? 

How can we find our way back 

To the spirit, and to truth?

Find courage in connection

It’s important to remember that 

Different things take courage 

For different people. 

For me, to draw the fine lines you see here 

Was far more frightening 

Than standing or speaking before a crowd 

Or starting a new play or painting: 

The voices in my head were shouting 

“You can’t draw! You know you’ll wreck this!” 

These are the times — 

When facing the voices that challenge us — 

We need to be willing to ask for support, 

To join forces together with neighbors,

Family, and friends 

And find courage together to resist 

The things that scare us.

More tenderness

I stand in my kitchen, 

Watching the mama doe and her yearling 

Gently loving on one another, 

And I think: this is what the world needs — 

More tenderness; 

More tenderness.

Encroachments

So often we erect barriers 

To keep us from dealing with 

The troubles of the world.

But over time, nature encroaches,

And though those encroachments

May seem lovely and fresh,

Over time they’re more likely

To pull those barriers down

And we’ll be forced to face

What we’d prefer to avoid…

To pull those barriers down 

And we’ll be forced to face 

What we’d prefer to avoid…

Gray days

Even on the gray days, 

People are still working, 

And I am working, too, 

Trying to find light between the grays 

Trying to welcome the contrast 

The dark provides; 

Greeting it with love, not hate, 

To soften its hard edges.

What if?

I watch my cat stare fixedly 

At a painting I’d stacked on the floor, 

And wonder: 

What are his thoughts as he stares, 

And what is it that engages him — 

Or did he just happen to fall asleep 

In that spot on the rug 

Instead of my lap? 

I know he loves music; 

What if he also loves art?

Be the light

I know it can be dark these days, 

But somewhere in this night 

Though it be tucked behind a cloud 

There is a light that shines. 

And if you cannot see that light, 

It may be time for you to be that light 

For others, who also struggle in the dark.

Learning to listen

I watch the seagulls, 

And they watch me, 

Occasionally engaging 

On this gray and windy day, 

And their full white breasts 

Bring back memories of the goose 

I once held in my arms 

And mothered into adulthood. 

These animals have so much to teach us. 

When will we stop and listen?

Otters

I’ve always been a fan of otters: 

There’s something about the joy they find 

Both on the water’s surface 

And in its depths, 

And the way they float on their backs 

While carrying their young 

That seems so open, and tender… 

So I totally understand 

Why an artist would choose to recreate them 

And why my town would place them here 

For all to enjoy.

Let beauty feed your soul

This photo was taken at sunrise, 

But my camera was facing west: 

Quite a surprise! 

 Just a reminder: 

Beauty can be found 

In unexpected places, 

So be brave, and bold, 

And look about you: 

 There is always beauty somewhere. 

Find it, and let it feed your soul.

Protecting the vulnerable

Help us always 

 To see beyond the distractions 

To the vulnerability that lies waiting 

To be tenderly cared for 

And gently exposed to the light.

Build habits of peace

My husband has a habit 

Of complaining about technology 

 While I, of late, have found myself 

Complaining just as much, 

But about politics. 

It’s time, I think, though I won’t deny 

Our complaints are well deserved, 

To actively seek a return to that space 

Within our hearts where peace is found, 

And to focus on nurturing that 

Til it expands beyond our selves 

And softens the conflicts of the world.

In mourning

Today we mourn the collapse 

Of something beautiful, 

And weep for the loss 

Of the ideals we held dear: 

How could so many folks condone 

This senseless killing?

Power of a symbol

Perhaps it was a mistake to choose 

As the symbol of our nation 

A huge angry predator 

Always alert for prey 

And determined to be master 

Of all that he surveys.

Echoes in the fog

The slow disintegration of this cabin 

Echoes the slow disintegration 

 Of the values we hold dear, 

Ideals embedded in our constitution, 

In our faith, 

And in our hearts: 

Freedom, compassion, equality — 

All crumbling as we watch…

Shadows

Early morning, and the sun is low, 

The mist is rising from the frosted lawn,

 And the apple trees, so barren in winter,

 Cast long, mysterious, inviting shadows 

Expanding across the path of light.

Reweaving hope

I wish, like this brave soul, 

I could rise above the controversies 

Tearing my country — and my soul — apart. 

And yet, there may be things that I can do 

Here, on the ground, 

 To find the threads of compassion 

That once bound our souls together 

 And re-weave them into a basketful of hope…

No aurora here

Waiting last night for the northern lights, 

My camera full of colors from an earlier sunset 

And sparkles from that morning’s frost, 

It seemed fitting that the sky remained as black 

As the clothing worn by the women in black, 

Who stood that afternoon to mourn 

The violence disturbing our fair country.

All is not yet lost

When so much seems dark, 

The mountain that lies beyond my window 

Reminds me the world is larger than this; 

That the sun still rises, 

There is still beauty, 

And all is not yet lost.