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?

Messengers of the sublime

All nature reaches out to us,

 But we, blinded by our earthly objectives,

 Fail to see 

What lessons might be learned 

From these supposedly inanimate 

Messengers of the sublime.

Longing to bloom

These days, these cold and wintry days, 

Our sunshine comes, not from the sky, 

But flowers: golden daffodils, 

Who somehow understand it’s time to bloom, 

And lift their lacy heads despite the cold; 

Even the snow cannot restrain 

Their bright exuberance. 

Something within me also longs to bloom, 

But seems content to wait a little longer. 

Perhaps it is a Rhodie, or a rose; 

I pray it won’t decide 

 To wait, like a chrysanthemum, 

 For spring and summer days to fade, 

Until the Fall…

Strange beauty

All nature’s beauty beckons us,

 Inspiring us with her complexity,

 Challenging us with her constant mutability,

 Reassuring us with her adaptability;

Her constancy and endurance.

Shakespeare said it best: like Cleopatra,

“Age cannot wither her, 

Nor custom stale her infinite variety.”