Mothering

On looking at these rocks, 

I see the essence of mothering — 

The embrace; the safe harbor we provide, 

From which others may explore their creativity, 

Build strong yet flexible foundations 

From which they launch 

Their journeys into the world. 

We form a nest around the water 

 That will always be their home 

To which they always can return 

For rest and healing…

A brief interruption

The cat’s been sleeping contentedly in my lap, 

But suddenly I look up and notice 

The blaze of sunrise, 

 Reflected in the double panes before me, 

So I gently push him off and step outside, 

To capture that bright glory, 

Disturbing the lame and tailless raccoon 

Who’s been enjoying his morning snack 

On the deck outside my door. 

Though I’m sad to disturb the animals,

 I know they’ll be back when I return to my chair, 

And, oh, the vision before me was so worth it! 

Only moments later, all that color has now gone, 

The sky is uniformly gray, 

And the cat is once again sleeping on my lap, 

As if it never happened… 

And what (my husband would ask) 

Have you learned from this? 

(Our children threaten to engrave that question 

On his tombstone.) 

A quote hovers somewhere in my brain,

Though I can’t seem to find its source:

So fast, so short, and then so quickly gone…

When nature unites us

When the bright flame of sky 

Ignites the water 

All our neighbors gather at the cliff,

 Ooh-ing and ah-ing in harmony 

With those gathered on the beach below, 

Each capturing the moment 

On their phones to share with friends 

While Mother Nature smiles quietly to herself, 

Pleased, as any mother would be,

 To see her children sharing and getting along…

Enchanted

I can’t help it: I’m enchanted. 

I’m enchanted every year: 

Those are not my favorite colors — 

Not the ones I paint with, anyway — 

But I’m so drawn to their magnificence — 

Or could it be the process? 

 That ability to set aside your green; 

To throw on this bright cloak of many colors; 

To dance in it upon the wind, 

One last hurrah before you slowly 

Fade to brown and fall 

Without regrets, 

Having rejoiced together 

 With your friends, your fellow leaves,

 You now let go, 

 And drop into eternal oneness.

The pulse of fruition

What if, like the bees, the work we do — 

Whatever it may be 

 That was given us to accomplish —

 Is part of some larger pulse of fruition 

That we, here, are too small to understand; 

What if, like the butterfly, 

The flap of whose wings 

 Spins a tornado into motion 

On the other side of the world, 

The choices we make, to do or not do, 

Have repercussions we could never begin 

To comprehend in the larger course of history?

Toward a brighter future

Driving through the fog on an autumn morning, 

I watch as the trees take shape before me, 

Some loom and threaten, shaking leafy fists 

While others, shaped like the onion domes 

Of Russian Orthodox churches stretch 

In concentrated curves toward the light 

That lies beyond their reach; 

Gentle arrows, pointing toward a brighter future…

Cinderella weeds

All those charming frills and ruffles, 

Topped by such an impressive head dress, 

Almost completely masked 

By their grassy background, 

Like Cinderella, stuck in the kitchen 

When she should be dancing at the ball!