Posted in Uncategorized, tagged body, body image, nature, poem, poetry, walking on May 23, 2019| Leave a Comment »
I like my body when I’m in the woods
and I forget my body. I forget that arms,
that legs, that nose. I forget that waist,
that nerve, that skin. And I aspen. I mountain.
I river. I stone. I leaf. I path. I flower.
I like when I evergreen, current and berry.
I like when I mushroom, avalanche, cliff.
And everything is yes then, and everything
new: wild iris, duff, waterfall, dew.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged duck, Emerging Form, mind, nature, ophir, poem, poetry on May 13, 2019| 2 Comments »
A mallard swims
in the beaver pond,
the sunlight makes
green praise of its head
and for an instant
the whole world
revolves around
emerald sheen.
There is little else
that’s green here,
though it is late spring—
but over 10,000 feet
the snow tends to linger.
This is a place where
the mind doesn’t hesitate
to offer its attention
to the sharp scent of trees,
to the snaking trickle of snowmelt,
to the thrill of cold air
in the lungs. And in giving
itself away, the mind
becomes clearer, becomes
a shining and natural thing,
like a mallard wing, like
a tree just before leafing,
like a canyon in which
the lush green world
is just about to emerge.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged certainty, conviction, nature, poem, poetry, unknowing on October 25, 2018| Leave a Comment »
So much to learn from the fallen leaves,
the barren trees, the still green moss,
the skittish deer, the unturned stone,
the smooth gray limbs of loss,
fog hung like garland in the woods,
a secret spring, the brittle grass,
the yet unfurling truth in us,
the path that forgets it’s a path.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, gratitude, marcus aurelius, nature, poem, poetry, Roman general, wind on October 9, 2018| 2 Comments »
You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.
—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
And though the leaves blush golden and red
and though the sun cups my face like a hand
and though the chill air makes me catch my breath
the wind whispers, friend, remember your death.
And I feel so deeply, so wildly alive
as I climb the hill, slight burn in my thighs
but I cannot pretend I am deaf
as the wind whispers soft, remember your death.
The Roman generals had their slaves
whisper to them in their moments of greatness,
remember your death—even as the crowds cheered—
to help them remember be humble, be here.
And the wind whispers yes, whispers yes to me.
And reminds me to take each step gratefully.
Remember your death, it says. Live now.
And with every step, though I don’t know to whom,
I say thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged nature, personal responsibility, poem, poetry on September 29, 2018| 4 Comments »
When my shoulders feel too slight
to carry injustice and my arms
reach too short to hold the world
and my bones are too weak
to carry even a single aching heart,
I walk amongst the aspen and the spruce
and notice how the light shines through
the changing leaves—such radiance,
such golden shine—and slowly
the rational part of me that believes
in doom is forced to fade.
It’s not so simple, of course,
as walking out into the forest.
But there is something there
that grows the soul and breeds
a sense of possibility and tells
the aching heart to rise up, rise up
and do the work that must be done,
rise up and carry with it the light.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged insignificance, love, nature, poem, poetry on August 21, 2018| 2 Comments »
And sometimes when I move
at the edge of a greatness—
a lake or a sea or a mountainside—
my insignificance thrills me
and the largest of my sadnesses
dwindles smaller than the space
between grains of sand
and in that moment,
knowing my place,
comes a love so enormous
I can love anyone, anyone,
even myself.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged camping, nature, poem, poetry on July 19, 2018| 2 Comments »
hello friends, back from a glorious few days of being unplugged … here are a few poems from the last five days.
falling asleep beside the stream
it carries away
the day, the years
*
whatever a partial moon means—
cradling it in my hands
to give to you
*
inviting Audrey Hepburn
for pancakes and tea—
she arrives with two tiaras
*
familiar path—
a year later
this new woman walks it
*
it takes four days
before my hands open enough
to let in the world
*
riding our bikes
on the old dirt road—
baptized in scent of pine
*
sitting on a rock
long enough
no one feels like an enemy
*
beside the path
one ripe wild raspberry—
walking through its door
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged daughter, mother, nature, poem, poetry, secret on April 2, 2018| 2 Comments »
Come, she says, let me show you
my secret place in the woods,
and she grabs my hand
and walks me past the pond through
the forest and along a ditch
until we arrive in a small clearing
rung with birch and old spruce.
It’s secret, she says, but not
too far away. Will you help me
get it ready? We return with
loppers and a small hand saw
and clear away what is dead. The sun
discovers new ways to touch the ground.
When we leave, the clearing
comes with us. All day, I feel it,
the light as it finds its way in.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged getting lost, nature, poem, poetry, walk on March 10, 2018| 2 Comments »
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged bird, busy, junco, nature, poem, poetry, quietude on March 6, 2018| 2 Comments »
Arriving at the starting line
I think of the marathon to come—
somewhere there’s a man
with a gun and a timer.
Somewhere there’s another line
I hope to cross.
Somewhere there’s a woman
who doesn’t know there is a race.
She knows only that the juncos
have come, and if she is still enough
she can see their white tail feathers
flashing in flight.
