We wandered through green gentians higher than
our heads. Vast fields of larkspur, monkshood, paintbrush.
Sour scent of hemlock, earthy scent
of osha. Stones upturned by bears in search
of grubs. A hundred times we gasped, enraptured
by the aspen’s greens. And every step,
a blessing. Every step a chance to praise.
Some days we can’t remember what it is
we wish we could forget, rare days when ache
can’t find us, days when we wade deeper in
to splendor, oh the largess of such days
when we know well the frailty of life
but feeling held, forget our helplessness.
Posts Tagged ‘blessing’
Something Missing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged being held, blessing, mountains, nature on July 9, 2026| 1 Comment »
A Blessing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, connectedness, fawn, nature on July 7, 2026| 1 Comment »
At the edge of forest
and field, a dappled fawn
wobbles through tall
grass, each step halting,
delicate. Around her,
the sweet clover blooms
in a yellow haze. Ash
sifts, from the nearby wildfire.
Scent of burning, scent
of change. Lyric variations
of the song sparrow
thread the air as if he is
stitching together all
that is here. Not pictured,
but no less present:
You. The sparrow. The flame.
The fawn steps into the open
to walk inside me, weaves
through a sea of shifting greens.
Long after she disappears,
she does not leave.
The Unknown Women
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged abundance, blessing, gardening, women on July 1, 2026| 2 Comments »
They, too, once had gardens filled
with succulent dark leaves and firm
swollen roots they planted to feed
their family, their community, themselves.
They, too, would walk the rows and tug
at weeds and make small, quirky bouquets
to take to the graves of their loved ones.
I don’t know why their gardens are gone now.
Perhaps covered in ash from wildfire.
Perhaps bombed out and torn up by war.
Perhaps transformed to dust by drought.
Or perhaps they are simply too old now
to pick up the trowel, the shovel,
the hoe. But the women remember
how they marveled at the pea vines climbing
the fence to produce a profusion of sweet
green pods dangling on the wire.
I long to feed them from these beds,
if not the food itself, feed them at least the ongoing
dream of garden, as someday I, too,
will be offered the dream through the hands
and thoughts of another woman who finds herself
standing in the midst of abundance longing
to share it with all the women who can’t
find their way into the garden today.
Not knowing how to bless them, I bless them anyway
as I have been blessed, and I transplant calendula,
deadhead the cosmos, harvest
heads of garlic, brush the loose dirt away.
May You Be Happy
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, fussy, happiness on April 29, 2026| 4 Comments »
When I cannot
offer you this most
simple blessing,
it’s because I’ve
forgotten
for this moment
who I am.
I remember now.
Child of sunrise.
Beloved of the rain.
Sibling of silence.
Lost one who rows
through oceans of stars.
Found one who
has been forgiven
when forgiveness
seemed impossible.
What I mean to say—
I am grouchy.
Still. I am trying.
What I mean to say—
cursing the drought
has never once
made it rain.
What I mean to say—
may you be happy.
Sharing Our Humanness
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ache, blessing, connection, fear, intimacy on March 10, 2026| 2 Comments »
with thanks to James Crews
My friend James calls it the rough blessing,
the blessing that rubs, that chafes,
that scrapes. Perhaps I wanted blessings
to only feel good, to be gentle. But the word itself
comes from the practice of sprinkling blood
on an altar. Why should I be surprised when
the blood for the rite is my own? I am thinking
of how today when I was hemorrhaging fear,
my friend comforted me when I called her in tears.
I felt so loved when she listened and soothed.
Such luminous intimacy grew from my wound.
Oh, ache of being human. Oh, the blessing.
Bowing at the Feet of the Ordinary
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged belonging, blessing, car, daughter, love, mother, self blessing on August 25, 2024| 9 Comments »
Bowing at the Feet of the Ordinary
May I remember this day
with its two-hundred twenty two
miles of pavement and my
daughter beside me and both
of us singing her favorite songs.
Remember this day not because
it was special but because
it was the way it always is,
with us laughing and talking
and sitting in easy silence.
With a stop at the car wash
and her grumbling about vacuuming,
then doing it anyway. With
a stop at the coffee shop
and me grumbling about
cake pops, then buying one
anyway. With the sweetness
of ripe Cresthaven peaches
we bought at the roadside stand—
how the juice dripped down our chins.
With the rich green of late summer
a blur out the window. The day
so infused with commonplace
love I never once doubted
I belonged with my girl, in that car,
in the world, in the universe,
the days getting shorter
but still so luminous, so warm.
Sodden Blessing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, georgia, loving the world as it is, rain on March 22, 2024| 7 Comments »
It’s warm and steady,
this rain that soaks me.
Perhaps all those tears
this afternoon were practice
for walking in this soft
and relentless baptism
that gathers wetly now
in my lashes, my hair,
my pants, my socks,
my shoes, claiming me
in a damp communion
so complete, so shining,
so dripping with soggy luck
that I choose to walk in it
for hours, evermore certain
I belong to the world.
A Blessing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, Christmas, love, peace, river on December 25, 2023| 11 Comments »
Dear Friends,
This one is for you. And for everyone. May deep peace find us–even in places it seems impossible. Even when it’s beyond our own capacity, may it grow in us, surprise us again and again.
Rosemerry
A Blessing
And if there is peace to be found,
may it remake you
the way the sunrise
remakes each morning,
the way birdsong
remakes the air,
may peace find you
again and again,
and may it shape
and reshape you
the way the river
creates its bed
simply by flowing.
What I Can Offer
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, healing, love on September 12, 2022| 11 Comments »
for S & J
I want to give you something
necessary as rain and lasting as honey,
something useful as a spoon,
something helpful as wheels.
Sometimes it feels so inadequate
to offer you a poem, a prayer,
the small light of a candle,
a hammock woven only of blessings.
Still, as you meet these difficult hours
I wish you the peace of the amber field,
wish you the rose quartz of dawn.
Because it’s what I can do, I offer you poems,
prayers, the small flame of a candle, and
a hammock of blessings woven with dark, with light.
So Alive
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, garden, lettuce, summer on August 21, 2022| 6 Comments »
After a late summer rain,
when the low sun shines
through the still-dripping world,
I walk in the garden and slip my hands
into the lettuce rows,
easily pulling up small green heads,
the leaves not yet bitter and tough.
Oh, the beauty of things in their prime.
Soon enough, the snow will be here,
the garden a drift of white.
No way to preserve this green for winter,
so I take it into me, dirt and all,
stuffing the leaves into my mouth.
I take in the green and the diamonding dew,
take in the golden light,
take in the sound of the river
and the growing shadows.
There are moments I understand
what blessing is. In this moment,
it looks exactly like what is.
Blessings, Blessings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, humanness on July 3, 2021| 4 Comments »
Believing it matters,
today I bless all that seems unable to grow.
I bless the stems of larkspur
broken in yesterday’s storm.
I bless the broken. Bless those in pain.
Bless all who feel as if they are drowning
in the ache of aloneness and betrayal.
I have felt the wide blessing of sky,
cold blessing of rain, green blessing of field,
I have felt the dark, sharp blessing of loss.
How it’s changed me.
For all I cannot fix, I bless it.
For all I cannot hold, cannot heal, cannot mend,
blessings, blessings, impossible blessings,
tender blessings, blessings
mighty as wildfire,
blessings as gentle
as tears.
Why We Smile
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, eulogy, friendship, Ivar Eidsmo, nordic skiing, smile on June 27, 2021| 2 Comments »
For Ivar
Today as we gently
spread mountain dirt
on your ashes
I think of
that snow blown day
three years ago
when we
at two below
were laughing
at how cold
we were and
how sticky
our skis.
It amazes me
how out of
bleakness
comes blessing.
To this day
your smile—
crooked
and wide as the mesa
we stood on—
still warms me,
your real smile
the only part
of that long cold race
I remember.
Side Blessings
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, bonus, free, rubber band on May 1, 2021| 2 Comments »
I save every
rubber band—
thick purple ones
from broccoli,
asparagus, leeks,
and the thin blue ones
used to keep berries
from spilling.
I could never throw away
a rubber band—
stretchy bonuses
thrown in for free.
Perhaps it’s strange
to call them blessings—
but I thrill in side benefits.
Like a talented new friend
hardwired for forgiveness.
Like the swooping choreography
of swallows that helps them
to eat biting flies.
Like how red wine is rich
with antioxidants.
Like a newspaper
filled with bad news,
but delivered with a useful,
flexible, rubber band.
Small Gratitudes
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, gratitude, poem, poetry on October 10, 2019| 2 Comments »
It was one of those days when the alarm
didn’t go off, and we woke anyway
to a world covered in snow, and
by noon the sky was blue. And I drove
right through the construction zone
without being stopped by a flagger.
The tomato for breakfast was ripe
and sharp and sweet. And the tea
was strong and black. The radio
played only songs I wanted to sing.
My car started. I had no flat tires.
I never felt sick. Never fell. More blessings,
it turns out, than a woman can count, though
I try to count them all. And the more
I remember—a good friend called, all
ten fingers are intact, my eyes still
see across the room—yes,
the more blessings I consider, the more
my joy grows until I am dumbfounded,
gobsmacked by gratitude that’s exactly
the size of the known universe, amazed by
how perfectly it fits—as if I were made for this—
right inside my skin.
After a Day of Blessings Great and Small
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, gratitude, poem, poetry on May 4, 2019| Leave a Comment »
Sometimes gratitude rises in us
like snowmelt—as if some great cold
has met with stubborn warmth
and now the whole world
roars with the transformation.
And sometimes gratitude
touches us more like moonlight,
we can’t truly feel it, but we know
it is there, our being
no longer intimidated by the dark.
Beyond Wishing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, fear, poem, poetry on May 6, 2016| 1 Comment »
And when there is fear,
then let us be flowers
unashamed of our blooming,
and let us be rivers undammed.
And when there is loss,
then let us be leaves that surrender to death
and give even more in life.
And when there is ache,
let’s unfold like dawn in layers
and layers of ripening pink,
let’s be bells
that ring only love.
And when there is sorrow,
let us be dark wings
that gather the light,
and let us be the light.
Autumnal
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged autumn, blessing, losing the self, loss, poem, poetry on September 9, 2015| 1 Comment »
after a line from William Stafford
When the leaves are about to yellow and fall
ask me then how I tried to hold on to what was green,
how I thought perhaps I was different,
how everything I thought I knew about gold
turned brittle and brown. Ask me what it was like
to fall then. Sometimes the world’s workings feel transparent
and we know ourselves as the world. Sometimes
the only words that can find our lips are thank you,
though the gifts look nothing like anything
we ever thought we wanted. Sometimes, gratitude
arrives in us, not because we are willing,
but because it insists on itself, like a weed,
like a wind, like change.
Very, Very Quietly
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged awe, blessing, bliss, poem, poetry, sky on October 26, 2013| 3 Comments »
I did not choose
awe today, but the big
pink sky chose me
and steeped me
in fantastic joy—
a drenching of miracle,
an overdose of amazement,
a wild indulgence of bliss—
oh such pink! layers
of rose and deeper rose,
and I did not earn it,
did not first prove my worthiness,
did not beg nor kneel nor fast
nor renounce my name
nor pull the strings
of the lyre nor sing,
all I had to do
was step outside
out of my own way
and open my eyes
and let myself
be gifted.
The Blessing
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, cottonwoods, dissolution of the separate self, falling in love with the world, poem, poetry, trees on June 20, 2013| 3 Comments »
Sometimes I forget
the trees. It’s embarrassing
to admit. Like saying I forget
I have hands. But
days go by when I do not
consider them. And then
some mornings, today,
for instance, the trees,
like an Indian saint
hurling petals at her attendants,
throw their fluffy white catkins
into my hands, my hair,
into my everywhere I look
until everything is baptized
in white cotton down
and I half expect the giant limbs
to pull me into a great gray trunk
and hold me close, whispering
into my ear, in words so quiet
no one else can hear, my daughter,
my daughter, my daughter, my daughter.
Because
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged blessing, poem, thanksgiving on November 23, 2011| 2 Comments »
Running south beside Mission Bay,
one comes to the place where the city
has stenciled, Courtesy Please,
only it looks to me as if it says
Curtsy Please, and so I do, to the whole
majestic world, and to the joy of mistakes,
and find myself overwhelmed by the wish
to bless everything in sight, and so
with the power in me—inherent
and equal to the power in everything else—
I bless the short man with one good eye
and the pelican as it keels then dives,
and I bless the fish it catches. I bless
the sky above me and the worn concrete
below me, the old men walking slowly
and the beautiful beautiful women.
I bless the ones who built the pavilion,
utilitarian and new. And I bless the short grass,
the playgound equipment, the water,
the mallard ducks, too. I bless each thing
for the pleasure of blessing, imagining
everyone else doing the same,
all of us blessing each other, ourselves,
one elation, indivisible, slivers of god,
with hilarity and just us for all.