When the mirror’s warped

Just a wee reminder: 

Your reflection will be inaccurate 

 When the mirror you are looking in 

Is warped: 

Be sure that what you’re told about yourself 

Comes from a wise, honest, and reliable source.

Transfigured

Sitting on the weathered bench 

In the far northwest corner of my yard, 

Stepping up to the edge of the cliff 

Every few minutes 

To peer around the scotch broom stalks 

At the distant mountains, 

Hoping for another perfect shot of a sunset 

Before the sun goes into its winter habitat 

(Too far south for its settings 

 To be seen from my home) 

I happened to observe 

This cluster of white berries 

In the bush across from me, 

Glowing quietly pearlescent 

 In the last light of evening.

 Marilynne Robinson was right: 

“Wherever you turn your eyes, 

The world can shine like transfiguration.”

Time to shine

That season’s here — 

The one where all the maples 

Start turning, green to red; 

Stand, brazen by the street, 

Shouting enchantments to the passersby, 

Parading like sirens till they drop their leaves 

To stand naked, dark, invisible in the cold. 

We, too, have seasons where we shine 

And others where, invisible, 

We hibernate — sometimes against our will — 

But then emerge refreshed, renewed, 

And ready to shine again. 

I wonder: do the trees accept 

Their losses as ungraciously as we do, 

Assuming permanence, 

Or simply bow their heads and smile, 

Knowing their time to shine will come again?

Forms of creativity

Creativity takes many forms, 

But this one’s quite endearing: 

To have chosen to grow in the first place, 

To give life to so much fruit, 

And then to have chosen to invest 

 In such astonishing variety, 

And finally to create such delightful displays, 

Even offering an elderly truck 

The thrill of center stage — 

Delicious!

Cloud dreaming

When  I was younger, I thought clouds like this 

Were the habitat of God: 

 This was what I visualized as heaven. 

And even now, there’s a part of me, 

Conditioned from my childhood, 

That feels a mix of awe and gratitude 

 On seeing the way the evening light 

Turns the towering mounds to gold…

Ships passing

Ships passing, just before the dawn of night, 

One full of people, the other lightly loaded 

With things that people think they need to buy; 

Each carrying a cargo of potential acquisitions — Experiences in one; possessions in the other; 

All things to be sold and to be purchased. 

When did we decide it would never be enough 

 To just sit here in the grass and watch the birds?

As usefulness fades

Often, as usefulness fades, 

A new kind of beauty o’ertakes us, 

As we provide a stable base 

For the future yet to come.

Content to sit and let youthfulness 

Clamber happily over us, 

We serve as host to new creative possibilities.

Late blooming

Autumn begins, and the sunflower makes 

Her final obeisance to Mother Sun, 

Unaware she will soon fall 

To seed the earth and join the cold and dark 

That’s meant to come. 

Freed from the stalk, no longer sheltered 

By large leaves, she'll wilt; her petals sag, 

But now, while still at peak and fresh, 

Her trusting innocence melts my heart.

A bit of a climb

It’s been a bit of a climb 

Back to good health,

 But the view makes it worth every step🙂 

So grateful for clear days, sunny skies, 

And new adventures!

Peaceful afternoon

Ah, the lure of a sunny afternoon: 

The lawn’s been mowed, 

 The kids are back in school, 

The apples are ripening overhead, 

And the air’s just warm enough 

To make a nap in the shade appealing. 

What a perfect opportunity 

 To rest and celebrate 

 A life temporarily at peace…

Creativity

The beauty of the morning or evening sky 

 Is lost on those who do not take the time to look, 

Yet that doesn’t stop the daily displays 

From happening. 

Like the universe, our own creative efforts 

Need not depend on whether they are seen, 

Or their perfection, 

But are rather an expression, 

Unique to a particular feeling, 

A particular moment in time; 

A natural outpouring of the divine spark 

That resides in each of us.

Risks and opportunities

Standing here, 

Waiting to walk into an unpredictable future:

 Could be dark; Could be light; 

 Currently welcoming, but still unknown, 

And we’re just about to clamber over 

 That one last obstacle. 

Heart stop, and start again: 

What’s life but a series of choices, risks, 

And opportunities?

That time of year

Here it comes again, 

That time of year 

When the Fallen Ones lie, 

Blood-red upon the ground 

Until they fade to brown and blend 

 Into the grass and dirt on which they fell, 

Once green and lively, 

Once brilliant, now slowly obscured with time: 

Who then remembers those once famous, 

On everyone’s lips until 

 Loss rendered them invisible? 

The candidates and teachers we once loved 

Whose names no longer linger in our brains; 

The dates and friends that seem 

 To have now become, not “Wow!” 

 But “When?” And “Who?” 

All things and people pass with time, 

Yet still we ache to see the first one fall.

In stillness

In stillness, like the silver sea, 

We can reflect with ease 

 Upon whatever passes by 

Without engaging, being troubled, 

Or making waves to disturb the shores 

Of those around us.

Resistance

The old tree stands, 

Dark etched before the flame of sky,

 A sentry, bearing witness 

To erosion and the passing of the day, 

Clinging to cliff’s edge 

Even as its roots protrude, 

Exposed, through the sediment below; 

Determined — as are we — 

 To resist the tides that threaten to overwhelm.

The ripening

This, this, 

 Is the ripening season: 

What richness is coming to fruition in you? 

What wondrous new life is swelling forth, 

Ready to burst its seams and feed 

Not just your soul, but the world’s?

The goddess in the tree

To have lived so long; to have survived; 

To have carried so many burdens, and still 

Be so brim full of life — 

What character remains; what richness, 

And what beauty in the wrinkles and the lumps; 

What stories must lie, simmering 

Beneath this variegated surface! 

I bow before the wisdom 

Of the goddess, hidden in the tree.

At the threshold

Standing at the threshold 

 Of what was and what will be, 

We ache, and wonder: 

How will this play out? 

Not realizing that the answer lies 

Right here, this moment, now; 

That presence, or the lack thereof, 

Contains the promise buried in the future.

At day’s end

When the evening sun wraps the Madrona 

In a scarlet gown, 

We know the time has come 

To shelter in our nests; 

To look back over the day and assess: 

What have we accomplished here, 

And how have we made the world 

A kinder place?

Growing past our divisions

Split, like this tree, by events in our shared past,

 We can nonetheless continue to grow together 

Toward a future full of grace, undivided,

Providing shelter and nourishment for all.

Avoidance

Like these clouds, 

We’ve been known to shift directions 

 To avoid the mountainous issues in our lives — 

It’s human nature, after all, 

To seek the easy way around tough questions, 

But still they loom. 

And who knows what larger trials 

Await around the corner?

The challenge of beginning

It’s challenging: 

 When you get a glimpse 

Of something new you’d like to explore, 

But it’s clear those first few steps 

 May prove a bit rocky; 

That it might be a rough start 

Before you get your balance 

 And can more easily move forward. 

But don’t let that intimidate you: 

Remember — all of us had to learn to crawl 

Before we could stand and walk, 

But it was certainly worth the time it took 

For us to get our bearings.

Prayers like smoke

This morning’s sun, reflecting twice as red 

In my double-paned window, 

Warns of wildfires to the south and north, 

And smoke that makes it hard 

 For some to breathe. 

A look at Purple Air confirms 

That though we’re green, 

The sun’s red circles have multiplied 

Across this corner of the world:

 Prayers rise like smoke 

 For all of those who suffer.

True companions

Though we may travel the same path, 

The strength one needs to press forward 

Is only theirs to provide: 

We can only help each other if one falls, 

And only then by breaking away 

From our own trajectory — 

And at that point the risks we’ve taken 

May prove impossible to overcome. 

So choose your companions wisely on this journey, 

That we may inspire one another 

 To safely reach our common goal.

Happy memories

Gathered on the edge of the turquoise sea 

Like an alligator, poised to spring 

On the passing fish, 

The seaweed awakens memories 

 Of life on an island, 

When our daughters were young 

 And all of nature served as a toy to play with; 

An incentive to inspire imagination. 

Grown now, they still exhibit that ability, 

To find inspiration, entertainment and pleasure 

 In the simplest and smallest, 

 Most natural surroundings, for which I’m grateful.

What impels or repulses?

Faced with a big decision, 

My thoughts swirl round, 

Exploding with light and color, 

But what’s real? 

Is this an opportunity or an indulgence?

 A way of giving back and engaging, 

Or a way to set apart, or to stumble? 

When is dreaming selfish, 

And how can we trust our instincts under pressure? 

Who was it that said 

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained”? 

And what impels and yet repulses about risk?

Seen from the air

Seen from the air, 

The house where we used to live 

Seems fragile; insubstantial; 

Hardly capable of carrying 

Such a load of happy memories — 

And then, perhaps not surprising,

 (When seen up close) 

So altered by those 

 Who’ve lived in it since we left 

That it’s no longer the home we loved 

And dreamed so long of returning to. 

It’s curious indeed, 

 How time can take old dreams 

And modify them, 

Changing them to reflect more fully 

Experience and shifting circumstances. 

Thomas Wolfe was right, I guess: 

You can’t go home again: 

As we evolve, so do our expectations 

 Of what home — and family, and friends — 

Could and should resemble.

Awaiting sunrise

In the quiet of early morning, 

The ships gather in the harbor,

 Dreaming of adventures 

 And awaiting the sunrise.

Evening meditation

Evening: time to tap the bowl 

And let the spirit resonate once more; 

An invitation to seek inward, 

 Even as we’re looking out; 

To evaluate the actions 

And choices of the day 

And reiterate our gratitude 

 For the beauty of this life…

Trailing clouds of glory

The morning sun enters the world 

 Trailing clouds of glory: 

Let new hope rise, 

And compassion ignite the earth!