In praise of adaptation

Mother Nature as the ultimate recycler: 

Who can create a tree from seed, 

Then grow it tall, 

And when it falls into the sea 

Invert its roots and let them stand 

Upon a beach 

 In solitary splendor, as if to say 

Each phase of life 

Has its own purpose, which evolves. 

Accept, and rejoice in, the change.

When we follow the call

For years, I was known for making and selling Photographs like this one: 

Each morning I’d wake up early, 

To scout out docks with photogenic dinghies. 

But then I became a painter, and mornings 

Became devoted to reading, and meditation — 

An odd way, to be sure, 

Of preparing for the canvas — 

And instead of looking outside myself 

For subjects, 

I looked inward, waiting, hoping, for inspiration; 

For some way to create art 

That might somehow serve 

As a portal to the sacred. 

Despite the challenge, the shift has brought peace, Though I still find that small boats bring me joy.

Embrace reality

Release your need to be the rose 

You were never born to be 

And accept with joy 

Your full hydrangea-ness: 

Instead of cowering behind 

The protective coverings you’ve grown, 

Allow your fullest self to emerge 

And trust that pale fragility 

Has a beauty all its own.

Continue on

On those days when all is gray 

And you feel you’re sailing through a fog, 

Be reassured: the sun will shine again, 

And flowers will bloom, and branches 

 That once were bare will feed us 

With their fruit again: 

 The cycle will continue, just as 

 We, too, must continue 

To bear fruit and to bloom.

Garden secrets

The bucks are whispering secrets 

In my garden again, telling tales of domination 

And reassuring one another 

That just because their horns still bear 

The fuzz of spring, it doesn’t mean 

That they are getting soft, it’s just 

That summer has been slow in warming up.

 “But look,” they say,

 “The foxglove and the lavender 

Are at their peak, and soon we will be, too; 

Remember last year?” And they smile, 

Knowing the autumn fruits will soon await them 

In the trees: Plums, apples, cherries, 

 All ready for the taking.

In gratitude

Today’s my anniversary: 

A year ago today, Prepared for death, 

 I underwent the surgeon’s knife, 

Which opened up my chest 

And my heart to new horizons 

Even as my dear friend sent this photo 

To let me know she was at my house 

To which she was convinced I would return. 

I’m grateful for so much these days: 

For life, for home, for friends and family, 

For my surgeon and all the hospital staff 

Who brought me back to health, 

And for the earth: The sea and sky and land 

That sustain me still in times 

Of fear, darkness and despair 

For all the brokenness in the world.

Improvement

An artist friend suggested I get cold wax, 

The kind that works with acrylics, 

And once I had it, I had to ask 

How best to use it, and he said, 

“Take a painting you’re not happy with, 

Mix the wax with colors not in the painting, 

And cover it up, then scrape it through 

 To expose what’s underneath,”

And so I did, and here it is. 

And now: is there a way to do this 

That could make the world a better place?