Grief

Grief, we know, is not unique to humans: 

This little guy has lost two canine playmates 

In recent months, and it shows: 

He’s clearly grateful to his human companions, 

But something’s missing from his life, 

And it’ll never be the same. 

Looking at his eyes, we feel the echo 

Of all the sadness in our lives, 

And in the world.

Reaching for the clouds

Like trees, we long to reach out to the clouds 

As they race across the sky, 

Gleaming like foreign lands 

With invitations to explore 

What lies beyond their darkening silhouettes 

 And dress in warm peach-colored light,

 Constantly shape-shifting as we dance 

Into the deepening indigo of night.

Nostalgia

This time of year, I could so easily 

Imagine I am back in New England:

These buildings, so like those 

Of the campus we left behind; 

These trees and skies 

The colors of Indian Summer — 

A term I’ve not thought to to use 

For forty years or more — 

But oh, if I were there, 

I’d miss the mountains and the water — 

And the people, but then, wherever I am, 

There are people that I miss: 

 That’s the challenge of leaving friends behind…

Small town life

A windy day, a cloudy sky 

Crisscrossed with wires, 

Trees casting a blanket 

Of golden leaves upon the grass, 

Blue mountains in the distance 

And two friends walking their dog 

On a quiet street… 

Life in a small town has its charms.

All things fall to those who wait

It’s almost like there are more 

Crabapples than there are leaves 

On this little tree, 

As if to say to the larger trees around it, 

“You may have larger apples, 

But I am more productive.” 

The deer ignore the competition, 

And simply wait — quite patiently — 

For what apples there are to fall to the ground.

What if?

What if I were to say this painting’s done? 

That the thousands of curving brush strokes, 

The drips, the scrapes, the splashes are enough; 

That there’s no need for lines, for spots, 

For tiny squares and illegible words — 

All the marks that I could add; 

Crisp afterthoughts, to give it definition… 

Might that not say that I, too, am enough?

Bare ruined choirs

Like flames, the trees of autumn blaze

Against gunmetal sky,

Warming hearts grown chilled in this season

Of hate, losses, and lies.

As the branches of government slowly turn

To bare ruined choirs

Where no more kindness sings

And winter goosesteps closer,

We wonder if spring will ever come again.

The promise of hope

A friend returns 

After a long absence, 

And we sit together, watching the rain, 

Exchanging joys and concerns until 

A rainbow rises before us: 

A splash of color when all was gray; 

A promise of hope 

When it’s easy to despair. 

And though it quickly fades, 

The hope remains.

Contentment and curiosity

Walking by this field full of cows, 

I’m amused to see that the only one 

Who’s looking back at me 

 Is the only calf: perhaps, like so many humans, 

Cows lose their curiosity as they age, 

And tend to focus on satisfying 

Whatever needs they have in the moment 

Rather than learning more about the world 

 Beyond the narrow confines of their lives… 

How can we work to achieve a balance 

Between contentment and curiosity?

Morning view

What clever artist’s brush is this, 

That shapes the morning clouds 

In shades of pink and gold,

 Then pastes them to an azure sky 

Above a mountain 

Dusted with peach snow?

Artistry

I can’t begin to comprehend 

 The time and talent it takes 

To create something like this, 

And seeing it, I wonder 

How I can call myself an artist…

Reassurance

This morning, as I watch you drive away, 

Praying, as always, for your safe return, 

I turned to see the water, almost still, 

Reflecting cloud formations rich with color. 

Nature’s beauty always reassures me.

No judgement

The flowers don’t compare or judge each other, 

Rejecting one another because 

Their centers are too large or small; 

Too red or gold; their stems too short or tall; 

Their petals are too curved or straight; 

Too open or too closed. 

Instead they cluster together, 

Welcoming both rain and sun, 

Their shape and color bringing joy to all.

Coexistence

However annoyed I get with this aging buck 

For chasing the doe around our yard, 

Eating our plants, and sharpening 

His horns on our trees, 

There’s something about watching him 

Dose in the afternoon sun, 

Just a few feet from my window, 

That moves me. 

I wish all the world 

Found it this easy to coexist.

Generosity of spirit

This is how I grew up, 

Thinking things were meant to be: 

The large sheltering the small, 

The powerful defending the weak, 

The wealthy finding ways to help the poor. 

When did generosity of spirit 

Become designated as violent and evil?

Echoes of Universal losses

Returning home from our evening walk, 

We came home to find this California quail 

Lying on the ground by our front steps — 

Presumably having accidentally 

 Flown into a window. 

We were crushed: we love the quail 

Who scamper daily across our lawn: 

The curious sounds they make, 

The way their headfeathers bounce, 

And their devotion to their families, 

And we ache for the loss 

This one’s children must be feeling; 

The losses children everywhere

Are feeling daily.

Light in darkness

I can no longer kneel with ease, 

So my garden has grown tangled, 

A no man’s land of thistles and holly, 

Dying branches and invasive grasses, 

Nettles and Euphorbia — 

So many plants that sting when touched… 

When you, helping my neighbor 

Repair his fence, offered to help me, too, 

I wanted to cry, and now, 

Though we can barely communicate, 

I see you kneeling amid the thorns, 

 So carefully creating space 

 Around the roses, Oregon grape, and rhodies; 

See how you wipe the sweat from your brow 

And stroke the aging willow’s branch 

And smile, and say, the tree: 

The tree is beautiful, yes? 

A light in darkness; An answer to my prayer.

Finding inspiration

Something about this beautiful entrance 

Calls to me each time I see it, 

And I can’t help but wonder what’s inside. 

But we humans — particularly artists — 

Are often misled or distracted by appearances: 

 Over time, we must learn 

To turn admiration into inspiration, not to envy.

Enflamed

May the fire in the sky awaken echoes 

Of the fire in your heart 

To do and be good, 

To care for the lost, 

To give what you can, 

And to resist and persist 

 In your search for what’s true and what’s right.

Global awareness

Those of us who grew up with globes 

May have been imprinted early 

With the awareness that we are all connected. 

And even though the names and shapes 

Of some countries were always evolving, 

We had a sense 

 Of which lands were mountainous 

 And which were deserts, 

And some sense of what it must be like 

To live there; some care and curiosity 

 For the Other…

Wholly ordinary

I was just heading for the door 

When this arrangement caught my eye: 

Not the vase, or its contents, 

Which are there all the time, 

But the way the sunlight 

Cast upon the wall 

Sets it off. 

How can we, like that light, 

Draw attention to the beauty of the ordinary?

If only…

If only we could walk on water, 

We could follow this meandering path 

To where it unites, then separates again, 

And then combines once more, 

And find it easier to imagine 

That what’s broken now 

 Could be once again made whole; 

 That the divisions that now plague us 

 Could peacefully resolve 

 Into a new and healthier unity…

Community art project

My little town has an aging fence 

 That’s about to be torn down 

And so the invitation came: 

“Let’s paint it before it goes!” 

The results — like the humans who participated— 

Are a mix of charming and beautiful, 

Poignant and humorous, 

But one thing’s for sure: most of us 

Will be sad to see it go.

Observing the familiar

It’s a familiar path; 

We walk it almost every day, 

But rarely pay attention to 

The way it keeps evolving. 

Whether it’s a walk in the woods 

Or steps to a refrigerator, 

A bedtime ritual or a trip to the store, 

We do it without thinking. 

What if today you were to notice; 

To be present; to observe 

What has evolved; what’s different 

Or even try another approach?

Slide into darkness

October, and the golden sunsets 

Become not only rare, but masked, 

As the earth begins to turn her back 

On light and color — at least for us —

 And the sun slides sooner 

And further into darkness. 

Hard not to feel our country’s sliding, too 

And wonder if spring might never return…

Where’s the blessing?

As things keep going from bad to worse, 

We have to keep asking this question to survive: 

Where is the blessing in this curse, 

And how can we bring it to life?

Uninhabited

Uninhabited, like the chest 

Of a heartless leader; 

Encroached upon by surrounding vegetation, 

Which expands to break apart the structure 

Others worked so hard to build 

 And still the sky glows blue 

As if this devastation Isn’t happening, 

Matters not, 

Shouldn’t disturb us; 

Pay no attention to what’s ending 

Right before our eyes.

What will become of us?

I made the mistake of starting my morning 

By reading a bit of national news 

And learned of the Arizona congressman 

Who said a Washington woman rep 

Should be executed for teaching folks 

Nonviolent resistance. 

So much for freedom of speech. 

I turn from my computer 

And stare sadly out my window 

At the newborn figs, 

Dancing in their branches in the rain.

Fifty Shades

The mountain and her dance partners, the clouds, Compose their own chaste version 

Of Fify Shades of Gray…

Warning: curves ahead

Wherever you’re headed, 

And whether the journey is planned, 

A simple exploration, 

Or a response to a crisis, 

There will inevitably be curves, 

Moments when you can’t quite see what’s next, 

And have no clear escape if it looks bad. 

But still, I know you’ll power through;

 Keep on moving forward 

At whatever pace you choose, 

Following your destiny and trusting 

That each moment is exactly 

Where you’re meant to be, for now, 

And what’s coming will have 

Something new to offer.

A larger view

When you’re sick, the world shrinks 

To the size of your room, 

 Or — if you’re lucky — 

To the view from your window.

 Sadly, being sick, I begin to understand 

That much of my country 

Must also be ill: unable to see 

Beyond their own walls 

 To the beauty and depth 

Of the larger world. 

But what is the cure? 

 And how can we restore 

That broader, more welcoming view?

Gathered reminders

As the season draws to a close 

 A few hardy flowers still cling to their vines 

In defiance of the winter to come, 

We, like the squirrels who store away 

Nuts for the cold days ahead, 

Gather the flowers in our cameras 

To remind us spring will come again.

Despite past experience,

It’s sometimes hard to believe…

Earth’s own pandemic

Driving down the road, heading west, 

And seeing fog beyond the trees — 

Or is it smoke?— and wondering 

If this is yet another fire, 

Or simply morning mist 

 Above the nearby sea. 

Wildfire season is earth’s own pandemic: 

Forcing all the vulnerable to mask 

And shelter indoors; coating the air 

With fear.

No figs left for us

There he goes again, that pesky little squirrel, 

Too fast for me to photograph 

As he separates another fig 

 From its branch among the leaves 

And scampers to a sturdier branch 

Beyond my field of vision 

To munch contentedly until the buck, 

Sharpening his antlers, shakes 

The whole tree, knocking squirrel and fig 

To the ground…

Waffling

It’s the day after your birthday, 

But I didn’t bring you flowers 

(The garden is empty) 

And I didn’t take you out to dinner

 (We have Covid, so we’re stuck at home) 

And the presents that I ordered 

Won’t arrive until today, 

So I asked what I could make you for dinner, 

And you said, “Waffles!” 

We’re old now, we’re allowed 

To have waffles for dinner, 

Though we never have before, 

So I got out the waffle iron, 

Which was covered with dust, 

And washed it off, and made waffles, 

With chopped bananas. I also cooked up bacon, 

 And heated maple syrup, 

Even though all those things are usually 

Your responsibility, and the first waffle 

Stuck to the grill and shredded

 (I’ve not made waffles in four decades 

And forgot to oil the grill) 

And we ate it all, and smiled: 

This might become a tradition.

We shall overcome

It’s true: there might be obstacles, 

And barriers to beauty, 

But with courage and determination, 

And the aid of helpful friends 

We can surmount them, and get closer 

To the joyful rush of life 

Our forefathers envisioned for our country.

Blessings abound

Heading home on the final stretch 

After a long day’s drive; 

Slowing for a local biker 

Who struggles with that last small hill, 

We pause to capture the essence of the moment: 

 The luxury of fields and trees and fog 

Giving the illusion of aloneness 

When we know ourselves 

Embraced by this community. 

Blessings abound.

Ashen rain

What happens when it rains 

And the ash particles in the air 

Are carried down to land on your windows…

Grass of many colors

Grass, like skin, comes in many colors,

Though we’re raised to think 

 It should be green (and watered frequently 

 So as not to turn an “ugly brown”, 

Despite any late summer water shortages) 

And kept quite short for our convenience, 

And hopefully free of weeds.

But look how lovely it can grow 

When left to its own devices.

Shades of the pandemic

After being stuck at home for several days 

With an unexpected bout of Covid, 

I doubly appreciate the cheery vista 

That greets me from my kitchen window. 

How delightful, that the flags installed 

To protect the birds can also add 

Such color to our view!

So different from the millions who died

Alone in hospital beds: 

I’m grateful for the scientists

Who developed medications and vaccines

That have made my experience safer 

And more pleasant.

What’s true?

When my sister-in-law came to visit, 

She asked if we could see the mountains, 

But the whole time she was here 

They were hidden behind the clouds. 

Now that she has left, of course, 

The mountain we see most has returned,

 So I sent this photo, taken this morning, 

Just to reassure her that it really does exist. 

But these days, now that so many photos lie, 

She’ll just have to trust that this one’s true.

Family values

Whether they are brothers or father and son, 

It always warms my heart to see them 

Caring for each other, unlike my cats, 

Who, though brother and sister, 

Never snuggle, and often fight.

More harbingers of winter

It happens every year at about this time: 

The sun, flourishing her ruffled skirts 

In her colorful nightly flamenco dance, 

Retreats once more behind the trees, 

Leaving us with only remnants, 

Frayed edges of the petticoats 

She once lifted so enticingly before us. 

If only we were not quite so far north, 

Or had chosen a home that faced 

A bit more west, we’d not be forced 

Into this annual separation.

Gray again

Gray again, and gray again, 

And now the days are gray again, 

But wet, at last, and not with fog, 

But rain at last, to still the fires 

And fill the lakes, 

And turn the dirt-brown lawns 

To green again, 

And so, again, the winter is icumin in, 

Tripping on the heels of fall, 

Whose colors, like the leaden sky 

 Are dulled into and lulled into 

 A monotonic state 

By all the dry.

Simple pleasures

Grateful for distraction 

From the troubles of the day, 

I’m drinking in the colors 

Of the cloud-dappled sky, 

Watching as the golden wisps 

Shade to pink before the darkness 

Steals all color from the canvas 

Laid before us.

Broken

I came to this green stream 

To be reminded of the unity: 

The lively spirit that flows through us all, 

Only to see that somehow it has come 

To divide us, a widening chasm, 

And all nature’s efforts to bridge; to reconnect 

Appear to have been broken. 

Poor Rudolph

The shoulds are rising up today, 

As in, I should be writing about the twin towers, 

Or the guy who died by one of those guns 

He thought everyone should carry, 

But instead I worry about this little guy: 

A yearling whose antlers are all kittywampus. 

How did it happen, and does it hurt? 

Will he be able to knock them off, and 

Will they grow back straight next spring? 

Do the other deer make fun of him? 

Do they laugh and call him names? 

Sad, isn’t it, how much easier it is 

To worry about the small stuff…

Works of art

Those of us who look at art, 

Whether impressed or underwhelmed 

 Forget that we, ourselves, are also 

Works of art, created and transformed 

 By loving hands, exposed and weathered 

By time, events, and circumstances 

 Not of our creation; 

 Watched, influenced, or ignored 

By those around us, who surround us 

And form part of our experience of the world.

Underprivileged

When I was young,

A foggy day and a lonely beach 

Were an invitation to walk. 

Eventually I realized 

That invitation, like so many others, 

Was reserved primarily for males. 

And though, with time, 

A woman’s world has opened up, 

That one sweet privilege still eludes us: 

Though we carry mace, 

And keys between our fingers, 

We can never fully relax 

When walking alone in fog or dark.

Gray skies

Though we can’t smell the smoke, 

We still know there’s a fire: 

The sun and the moon are both rosy, 

Against the flat gray of the skies. 

It’s like politicians who claim they spout truth: 

Black and white turn to gray, 

But we still smell the lies.