The path not taken

Why worry now about the path not taken? 

It’s dried up now, not traveled much, 

And anywhere it might have led 

Has petered out for lack of your attention; 

Surely no longer relevant 

To the life you’re living now. 

You might walk by 

 And give it a passing glance now and then, 

But here and now is where you’re meant to be.

Take pleasure in this moment

Though the sky above is blue, 

There are clouds looming, threatening; 

Storms on the horizon. 

How can we appreciate the glory of this day 

With those dark harbingers 

Hovering in the distance? 

How can we not? 

Knowing what challenges await, 

We breathe deeply, trying not to brace; 

Inhaling and enjoying 

 The pleasure in this moment.

Fallow time

Now the autumnal equinox has passed, 

The farmer’s plowed his field 

And the fallow season has begun;

 A time to rest and to collect 

Seeds of ideas for next season’s germination; 

A time to back off the drive to produce and control;

 To breathe, to contemplate, and to invite 

 What’s next to permeate our souls.

The mirror impulse

For many years the empath in us 

May manifest like this: as a reflective surface,

 Only mirroring back 

What we think others wish to see. 

With time, we learn to open up, 

To speak our truth and ask for what we need, 

But that impulse is still there; 

To hunker down, take shelter behind the mirror, 

And hide what we truly think and feel.

Change, triumphant

Looking down from above 

At the rivers, like cracks, 

That have carved and are carving 

The mountains around them,

 I’m reminded again 

How much power there is 

In allowing the flow; 

That change will always win out 

Over staying the same.

What we learn

The heights we long to scale 

 Can prove challenging: 

There’s many a slip along the way, 

And the slide back down has a chance of being 

Terrifying or exhilarating. 

But once we’re back on solid ground, 

What will we remember about the journey?

 The joy? The pain? 

 Or the friends we made along the way?

Happy Sunday!

May your Sunday contain moments 

Of beauty, purity, and grace…

The soul, exposed

Nature, like life, is a sculptor of sorts, 

Chipping away at the accretions of time 

To expose the essence within. 

And as I stare at this amazing work, 

I seem to see a face emerging — 

A mouth, an ear, the beginnings of a nose… 

Could this be the soul of the rock?

A colorful path

There are those in life who seem destined 

To walk a more colorful path; 

To see more, attempt more, and accomplish more 

Than falls to the rest of us. 

Be humbled and inspired, 

 But not discouraged by their adventures: 

 Though our colors may be more muted, 

We, too, have charm and value, 

 And an impact all our own. 

We, too, can work in our own communities 

 To help the world become a better, kinder place.

Dealing with grief

"Don’t worry,” my mom used to say to me,

 “There’s always plenty more fish in the sea,” 

Whenever I was distraught about 

 A betrayal, rejection, or loss. 

Of course that never takes into account 

The unique attributes of the fish that was lost 

Or the dwindling numbers of fish in the sea. 

But she, because of an early hard loss of her own, 

Was terrified of emotion, and so 

She chose to belittle, not honor, my feelings, 

Lest they trigger memories of her own. 

Perhaps that’s why so many of us 

Deal so poorly when faced with the grief of others: 

We’re simply attempting 

To protect our own hearts…

A taste of Eden

Where do you go 

When you need to rest and recuperate? 

What is it that feeds your soul? 

For me, a garden like this — 

A mix of sunlight and shadow, 

Light green and dark, private and quiet, 

With places to sit and places to wander, 

Blessed with birdsong and graced with art… 

This — this could be Eden.

Maternal responses

Though our cats have been catching 

 The mice in our kitchen with some regularity

 (Their methods are far more effective than traps) 

I was nonetheless moved by the tenderness 

 Of this charming creation. 

The detail, of course, is incredible, 

But the facial expressions so beautifully capture 

How it feels to protect and to seek protection, 

I found myself feeling a little bit guilty 

For all the dead mice we have tossed off our cliff…

Focus on the Now

It’s easy to get so caught up 

 In what’s past; in what’s behind you, 

That you fail to fully focus 

On what’s right here, 

Right in front of you; 

To worry so much about what you’ve lost 

Or what you’re missing, 

That you miss the blessings right before your eyes.

Ripening

Sitting in an old friend’s back yard, 

Snacking on homegrown cherry tomatoes —

 Is there anything sweeter 

 On a late summer’s afternoon? 

Looking at these two on the vine, 

I find myself thinking 

We’re not just aging; we’re ripening — 

Growing from a dull, mottled youth 

To a ripe, juicy, sweet and luscious perfection! 

Life is good.

The promise of the future

Our destination looms 

So brightly in the distance, 

But there’ll be so many ups and downs 

Along the way before we get there 

That it’s easy to get lost in the valleys, 

Lose perspective, and never get there. 

So we hold the image in our hearts, 

Warming our hands at its promise 

Even when we feel buried 

In the cold and dark.

We are One

This is it. 

We are One, 

Steaming through life together, 

Laden with the baggage 

Of our hopes and expectations, 

Our breath streaming behind us, 

Echoing the clouds of breath 

Of those who’ve gone before. 

One boat, one life, one earth: 

How can we best support one another 

 On this journey?

Perhaps a blessing

Each night, at sunset, I go out 

To photograph the colors in the sky, 

For, as with snowflakes, every sunset’s different. 

The infinite variety holds endless fascination — 

The shapes clouds take,

 The patterns on the water, 

The way the world turns gold, then pink 

As the earth turns from the sun… 

But, as with many photographs,

 It’s not til I look later 

That I see the unexpected gifts: look here 

And see the angel in the water, 

Her wings raised as if in praise of light, 

Or perhaps a blessing. 

Now, having seen her, breathe 

 A prayer of gratitude.

Opalescence

The dying poppy’s petals wax pearlescent 

As her blossoming season draws to a close. 

Like the essence, revealed beneath 

The transparence of an elderly woman’s skin, 

We see in that opalescence 

Both the beauty that she was 

And the dignity; the purity and elegance 

Of what she is becoming…

Beauty and violence

The cat had just crawled into my lap 

For his morning nap 

When this rainbow appeared 

 Outside my window. 

Of course I leapt up and ran outside 

To watch it as it doubled, then faded, 

Followed (not preceded!) by an unpredicted rain. 

Back in the house I quickly learned 

The cat had responded 

 To being dumped from my lap 

By taking it out on his sister. 

Hearing her screaming,

 I grabbed my squirter 

 And ran to the bathroom to break up the fight. 

Must such beauty always be followed 

 By violence?

One brown cow

Whether on a crowded subway, or in a bar, 

Or sitting in an airport, waiting for a flight,

 Those moments come, when we’re suddenly aware 

Of the enormous complexity of life; 

 How each person that we see

 Has experiences and concerns 

We can only imagine, yet in that moment 

When we cross paths we are connected… 

And here, passing by a farm on a rural road, 

I can wonder who lives here, 

What their life is like, 

And how they ended up 

 With just one brown cow in a herd of black…

Peacekeepers

This charming sculpture is Pia the Peacekeeper; 

Isn’t she beautiful? 

Built of recycled pallet boards 

 By Copenhagen-based Artist Thomas Dambo, 

She lives in Sakai park on Bainbridge Island, 

And appears to have a steady stream 

 Of visitors— some quite young! 

 I was intrigued to note that her gaze 

 Seemed to follow us around, 

Inviting us to be peacekeepers as well…

Ignored

My husband clapped his hands, 

And all the crows in the fogged field 

Flew up into the air, then settled 

 Down again, as if they’d never moved.

 Applause, that praise some of us long for, 

Can be like that: a brief flutter, some uplifting, 

But then things settle down again 

As if nothing has changed: 

No new horizons opened,

 No self esteem enhanced, but just 

A pleasant memory that fades with time; 

A brief phrase on a resume, 

Buried in a list of accomplishments; 

 Ignored.

In praise of generosity

I praise this day 

The generosity of apple trees, 

Whose lush and precious fruit

 Is so prolific, it feeds not only us, 

 But our deer, our community’s homeless, 

And even makes applesauce for schoolchildren. 

 Such bounty, and with so little help from us…

What fog teaches

How is it, that we’re so determined 

 To hold and see ourselves apart, 

Separate from other humans so like us? 

Doesn’t the fog teach us 

The beauty to be found 

In the blurring of boundaries; 

How alike all things become; 

How alike we are at heart?

Grudge match

It’s that time of year again, 

When the deer are locking horns again 

Like politicians, gearing for a fight. 

Grappling for dominance, 

They begin with a courteous lick and a grunt, 

And then engage and twist and try 

 To pull each other down;

A pointless exercise from my perspective, 

After which they lie down in my yard 

And take a nap. 

Unlike Republicans and Democrats, 

They don’t seem to harbor grudges…

There will be days

There will be days when we find 

 Our constant efforts to do good, 

Be compassionate, fight prejudice and injustice 

Are exhausting. It’s okay, in such a world, 

On such a day, to take a rest; 

 To lie down in the grass, made dry and prickly 

 With the heat of climate change, 

And relax, and close your eyes, 

And dream of a world 

 Where the grass is soft and green 

 And folks are kind, 

 For dreams like these will fuel our future.

Like the bees

Like bees, 

We all have our good points and bad:

 The honey we make and share 

Often outweighed by the venom in our sting. 

But like the bees, we need one another; 

Need the cross-pollination of thoughts and ideas.

Our willingness to share 

Feeds the world’s growth and vitality.

Where Sunday falls

Does Sunday fall 

At the beginning or the end off your week?

 Is this where the journey starts? A sunrise? 

Or a sunset as the week draws to a close? 

However it works for you, I pray 

That rest is still the order of the day; 

Some time to process what’s been done 

And prepare for what’s to come; 

Some time for peace.

Baggage

What if the baggage 

We drag along through life 

Isn’t bad, dangerous, 

Eating away at us and our relationships, 

But simply a marker we drag along on purpose; 

A way to make ourselves more visible, 

 More identifiable, 

 Should we find ourselves drowning 

In the minutiae of life?

Have you seen the moon?

A friend texted me: have you seen the moon? 

And though I looked around me 

From my spot in the ferry line, 

The sky was black. She texted back: 

It’s in the East, if that’s a help! 

And so I left my car and took a walk, 

Past the buildings and the trees 

To the corner of the street, 

And there it was, shining on both of us 

Though we were miles apart, 

Showering us both with grace, and light.