Trusting the path

There will be times 

 When the path we’re meant to travel 

Is clearly marked, 

 Even though we may not know 

Exactly where it leads. 

And so, guided by circumstance, 

We take that chance, 

Trusting that, whatever the result, 

The lessons learned are meant to help us grow.

Serendipity

There’s something very special 

About walking out your front door 

And seeing this. 

As a woman who used to quilt and taught quilting, 

With a daughter who makes quilts 

 And a quilting friend who just paid 

Her annual visit, and took me 

On a fabric shopping spree, 

And gave me one of her quilts, 

The serendipity of this — a stranger’s choice 

To build a photograph — seemed enormous. 

It amazes me at times, how often 

Coincidences like these seem to occur: 

I find them somehow very reassuring— 

Like those instances of deja-vu, 

A gentle indicator that I’m where I’m meant to be...

Learning to sing

We turned our house 

From yellow to gray this week, 

But elected not to disturb the swallows’ nest 

(You can see, below right, where yellow stops

And gray begins.) 

Happily, the babies have thrived 

In spite of all the commotion. 

Mama got some paint on her tail, 

But it doesn’t seem to have interfered 

With her characteristic swooping flight 

As she and her mate fly back and forth 

In support of their young. 

Such a pleasure, watching the little ones 

Learn to sing!

The firefly in the heart

Asked to give a workshop on abstract art, 

I came up with a set of steps and choices 

That would make it easy to demonstrate 

A wide variety of tools and techniques. 

But I found the colors and choices so addictive 

That for the first time in my painting career 

I seem to be doing a series: over 20 paintings now, 

All in the same style, and I wondered: 

What should I call them? And today, a gift, 

This poem appeared in my reading:

 “Who knows 

That in the depth of the ravine 

Of the mountain of my hidden heart 

A firefly of my love is aflame.” 

Thank you, Abutsu-Ni!

Harbingers of hope

A spectacular evening sunset —

 One I’d have missed, if I hadn’t been exposed 

(Or possibly exposed) to CoVid 

 And decided to stay home — 

Turned the Madrona trees behind me to scarlet; 

It seems only fair to share them both 

As a testament to the beauty of the day 

And the gift of happenstance: as we look back, 

Is it not true, that some of the best gifts 

We’ve received in life could only have occurred 

 Because something else more painful 

 Cleared the way for something new? 

And, knowing that, might we resolve, 

To treat our future setbacks 

As opportunities; harbingers of hope?

Gifts from the sky

Driving home last night 

 From a birthday dinner with friends, 

We were treated to these amazing clouds. 

They were particularly fabulous 

 When we could see the nearby water, 

Which was pink with their reflection, 

But I wasn’t quite quick enough

To get my camera out to show you that. 

Nonetheless, their drama was impressive, 

And a joyful end to a joyful evening: 

Good friends and a glorious sky — 

Life’s precious gifts: who needs presents 

With gifts like these?

Imperfections

The last patch of lavender in my garden 

 Is blooming; all the others, once vibrant purple, 

Have gone to gray, 

So I thought I’d take a picture of these, 

Glowing in the evening light, 

And now that it’s morning, I see there is 

A stray white blade of grass — 

 Just there, near the center — 

And my photographer’s eye is offended. 

Do I toss the photo? 

 Pull the grass and take another? 

Photoshop it out? Or keep it as a reminder 

Of something age is teaching me, day by day: 

That things don’t need to be perfect 

To be beautiful…