The challenge of volunteering

Nature has a way of tossing 

Beauty into unexpected places: 

My neighbor used to call these surprising gifts 

Volunteers. And — ideally — 

Isn’t that what volunteering’s like? 

So often an attempt to bring some light 

And/or beauty to dark places? 

How sad it is, when the light we bring 

Never seems to be enough, 

 Or gets extinguished, 

Or when others only add to the darkness…

Lefty unattended

Though overgrown with weeds, 

Our lavender garden’s lush 

With the purple scent of promise:

 As with people, institutions, and opinions 

That we cherish, we look past, forget, ignore 

The imperfections, only seeing 

What we expect or have grown accustomed to, 

Forgetting all things grow and change — 

Both bad and good —

 And may get wild or unruly left unattended…

Let spirits rise

The winds of change are blowing through, 

And all the opinions, guidelines, and the rules 

We thought we had nailed down 

May be whisked away, leaving us bereft 

Of all but spirit: that which fuels 

Rebirth, rebuilding, and renewal, 

Always turning winter into spring. 

Trust, don’t cling, and watch the spirit dance 

As it’s lifted to new heights.

The joy of reconnecting

Summertime, 

And the return of simple pleasures, 

Like splashing in the water, with friends. 

Even masked, and six careful feet apart, 

We welcome opportunities to reconnect, 

Both with nature and each other.

On the journey home

In the still morning,

 A lone sailboat returns home to the harbor, 

Back from adventures unknown, 

Watched over by the mountain as it passes. 

We, too, are on a journey home, 

Watched over as we pass 

Through waters sometimes still 

And sometimes rough; 

 The Watcher sometimes clear; 

Sometimes fogged in or clouded 

But always present as a marker 

To help us stay the course.

Seeking equanimity

This was the state of my dreams last night 

As my mind struggles to cope 

With the swirling surge of responses: 

The fury, the helplessness and frustration, 

The sadness, the grief, and the driving desire 

To help all those affected. 

I’m grateful to be living in a protected state, 

And appalled to discover the depths of my rage 

With all those who celebrate this victory. 

How, after such troubled dreams, 

Am I to find the trust and calm I seek; 

The equanimity, tolerance, and compassion I crave?

Thoughts on generosity

I was never one of those wonderful moms — 

You know: the ones in the ruffled aprons 

Who are always cooking roasts 

 And baking cookies and apple pies — 

But on special occasions I will make 

This amaretto brownie chip pie, 

Most of which I prefer to give away.

 It’s not exactly a selfless act; 

 It’s more to protect my figure — 

Or what’s left of it! 

And isn’t that the truth 

 Of many apparently selfless acts? 

We tend to only give away 

That which we no longer want or need. 

But each of us draws those lines — 

The boundaries between self-sacrifice, 

Self-protection, self-serving, 

And pure selfishness— in different places. 

 Where are yours? And what —

 If we were to become more generous; 

More compassionate — might need to change?

How human are we?

The Eagle watches for prey 

From his perch above the sea, 

His powers of observation focused 

On what he might catch and eat, 

While we, as humans, 

 Watch for so much more — 

Unless, of course, we don’t. 

 How human are we, if, like the Eagle, 

We only watch in hopes of turning 

Each situation to our own advantage?

Simple pleasures

The simple pleasures offered to passers by 

 By a yard full of bright red poppies 

Are not to be underestimated. 

Whether the colors remind you of Christmas

 Or the flowers bring memories of Dorothy 

In The Wizard of Oz, 

Or the profusion simply makes you smile, 

They are a gift, and as I pass, 

I bow my head in gratitude for the cheery sight.

Not always in our control

I want to begin by saying 

I did not set out to paint trees. 

But paintings are a bit like children: 

They have minds of their own, 

And sometimes their intentions 

 Don’t match ours, forcing us 

To open our hearts to the wider possibilities

 In search of a response that will result 

In a fruitful combination; a pairing 

That will take us someplace altogether new, 

And yet, somehow, familiar...

Afternoon of a fawn

Something about the innocence of a fawn 

Is irresistible:

 The patience with which they watch 

For their mother’s return makes us ache 

For that time in our own lives, 

Before the pain and betrayals 

 Made us lose our trust in goodness. 

It’s a bit like watching a wedding: 

So much love and hope on display, 

Yet our tears fall at the thought 

Of both the joy and the struggles 

That lie ahead…

On Father’s Day

These two photos were taken minutes apart, 

At and after sunset, 

And it struck me, how much the colors changed 

Under the influence of the sun; 

How the gray barn turned to red 

And the lavender in my garden 

Became just a grayish bush — 

Much as children become more or less themselves Depending on the influence 

 And control of their parents. 

This Father’s Day, I choose to honor, 

Not my father, but my husband, 

Who not just permitted but invited our girls 

To let their own special colors shine forth.

When words become weapons

• 

We all know that old adage: 

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, 

But names will never hurt me,” 

Yet research shows that’s not actually true. 

When we dehumanize those we call other— 

Describing them with derogatory names 

That convey contempt and disgust — 

We pave the way to our own inhumanity. 

It’s time to watch our language, 

Lest in doing so we give ourselves 

Permission to destroy human life.

Evening sky

Sitting with the Eagle, we watch the horizon 

As the clouds begin their nightly transition 

From white to gold, to orange, to pink, to black 

Against a sky that proudly displays 

Every possible shade of blue 

From green to teal, to aqua, to cobalt, 

And finally to a purple fit for a queen. 

Drawn by the colors, she lifts her wings 

To glide upon the wind, 

 Adding her sharp dark counterpoint 

To our chromatic symphony.

When the path is clear

So grateful for the days when the path 

Is wide and clear; dry and speckled with light. 

I’m learning to be grateful as well 

For the days when it seems 

I’m bushwhacking through the woods 

Or backtracking, lost, and circling round 

To the same wrong results repeatedly — 

If only because they teach me by comparison 

 To more fully appreciate 

 What good fortune I do find. 

I wish I were more like Edison, and could say 

 I have not failed, but simply found 

10 thousand ways that do not work.

On gray days

On gray days, when a wall — 

Grief, anger, or betrayal — might seem 

To indicate the end of the world, 

The challenge is to keep on moving toward it. 

Get close enough to see it’s just another edge; 

Another opportunity to surmount 

The obstacles placed in our path 

That guide us forth to new, unexpected futures.

In gratitude for gardens

Today I give thanks for all the gardens 

And the gardeners of this world: 

For those who grow and sell 

Such beautiful plants; 

 For those who plan and dream 

The colors into life; 

 For those who dig and weed and dirty hands; 

And for the designs, the shapes and colors 

That inspire artists everywhere 

And warm the hearts of all those who pass by.

Traits needed for success

We awoke this morning to the sight 

 Of a dozen or so tiny sailboats 

(At least, tiny from this distance) 

Making their way north 

In the annual Race to Alaska. 

Having interviewed the first women 

 To have won a few years back, 

I now better understand 

 The massive preparations they go through; 

The inventiveness, the courage, 

And collaboration that it takes to be successful; 

And the nature of the challenges 

 These sailors may well face upon their journey, 

And watching them, we wish them Godspeed — 

Just as I would new parents, 

Whose journey lasts much longer 

 But requires those same traits along the way…

It takes all kinds…

One might conclude that this photograph 

 Was taken somewhere in Europe, 

But in fact I shot it through my windshield 

On my way to the hardware store.

 I confess, like many of us, I am wary 

Of folks who build monumental edifices 

Instead of more charitable expenditures, 

But at the same time, there’s no denying 

The pleasure such creations bring — 

A gentle reminder that there are many ways 

To contribute to the uplifting of a community.

Old + New = Joy

Like life, this painting 

Is full of happy accidents: 

The graphic elements from earlier attempts 

 That show through; 

The other-worldliness of all those little planets 

(The result of not-enough paint on a sponge), 

The starry sky effect — 

Because the new paint didn’t quite adhere 

To the old — 

Like this painting, each of us 

Is a work in progress; a blend 

Of new discoveries over old experiences— 

Some hidden; some revealed — 

And, every once in a while, 

The combination results in moments of pure joy.

When things get foggy

I do believe these cows have the right idea: 

When the weather — 

 Whether emotional or atmospheric — 

Starts to get a little foggy and unpleasant, 

It might be wise to take a break; 

To find a safe and quiet space 

To simply cogitate and breathe, 

Re-gathering your energies 

(Marshaling or mustering) 

For the challenges yet to come.

Perception

For some reason, when I look at these clouds, 

I see a dog, riding a dinosaur across the sky. 

But that’s just me, and what I’m seeing now: 

You might see something different, 

And so might I, two hours later — 

Or, influenced by me, you might then find 

The dog and dino dominate your vision. 

Perception — especially 

 When what we perceive’s not easily defined — 

Is always colored by experience and influence: 

It’s best not to confuse opinions with facts…

Tangled, messy, joyous

It’s rock rose season in our little town: 

 they grow wild here, 

 and their scrubby-looking bushes 

 spread happily along the edges 

 of our beaches, pathways, streets, and farmlands. 

Over the winter it just looks like tangled brush, 

Like blackberries; messy and encroaching; 

Something one might wish to remove. 

And then suddenly, in June, 

 The small pink flowers are everywhere, 

Singing their song of the summer to come — 

Like so much of life: tangled, messy, 

And then sweet moments of joy…

An open and shut case…

Staring at this photograph, 

I’m struck by the irony: 

The larger doors are open, 

But the smaller door is locked… 

My first response is that old saying, 

About locking the barn door 

 After the horses have been stolen. 

But it also speaks to me 

Of the sometimes foolish ways 

 We protect our hearts, 

 Ignoring larger vulnerabilities, 

And, at the same time, 

Of the ways we can obsess over small details 

 While ignoring the bigger picture. 

What is it that you see?

The mystical enchantment of the Now

Even the best of cameras 

Can find it hard to focus 

On both near and far away. 

We, too, can find it challenging, 

Thoughts drifting between where we are, 

Our intended destination, and the future 

(Though it’s often obscured by clouds.) 

But when we dwell too much on what lies ahead, 

We run the risk of missing 

The beauty of the moment right before us; 

The mystical enchantment of the Now.

The generosity of the sun

Who can doubt the generosity of the sun, 

Which not only warms us, 

But gifts us each day with a wild display of color, 

Inviting whatever has been buried in us 

To become seeds, to burst into the light, 

To bloom, and to bear fruit…

What are we called to do?

Though I’m in my studio almost every day, 

It’s actually rare for me to paint something I love; 

Rarer, still, to paint something realistic. 

So this one, based on the fig tree 

Outside the window where I meditate, 

Came as quite a delightful surprise! 

But then the question arises: 

Was this just serendipity, 

 Or is it something I could — or should — pursue?

 … and the root question 

Each of us faces every day: 

 What am I called to do?

The beauty in complexity

Those of us who crave simple solutions, 

Simple explanations and easy answers; 

Who long to reduce the world 

 To black and white, 

Might need to return to their gardens 

To rediscover the beauty in complexity…

Peaceable kingdom

The bucks around here 

Tend to be pretty competitive, 

So when this fawn began sneaking up 

To a resting male, I watched anxiously, 

Hoping she wouldn’t get kicked 

(I’d seen that happen before). 

But after a brief nuzzle, she danced away, 

Unharmed, made a bouncing circuit of our yard, 

Then returned to her mother to nurse, 

And I breathed a sigh of relief: 

In a world beset by violence, 

I’m learning to treasure 

 These rare instances of peace…

Pleasures of symmetry

My artist mom, an advocate of asymmetry, 

Always objected when I strived 

For even-handedness. 

 If I placed the candlesticks on either side 

Of the fireplace or table, she’d complain, 

And stand them both together, 

On one side or the other, 

 Perhaps adding a small bowl 

 On the opposite side for balance. 

However much I understand that now,

 I still delight in symmetry, 

And, finding ways to express that love, 

I grin, and imagine her objecting…