Just because I can’t hear the wind on Mars
without the sound being raised two octaves
doesn’t mean the Martian wind wouldn’t open a sail—
doesn’t mean it wouldn’t blow off my hat
or fly my kite or create thick swirls of red dust.
Just because I could barely hear the wind on Mars
with my human ears doesn’t mean
the wind wouldn’t flip up my skirt. So many forces
just beyond our senses have powerful effect—
like the words that just today I didn’t hear you say,
yet I know by the way my skin shivers they’re true.
I know, just as sure as the wind blows on Mars,
it takes just one gust to make a thousand seeds go flying.
And I am a weed with ten thousand seeds.
And those words I didn’t hear today, they’re the wind.
Posts Tagged ‘wind’
Listening to the Wind on Mars, I Consider the Unsaid
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged communication, mars, silence, sound, wind on February 23, 2021| 3 Comments »
Rather to Praise What Is Still, But
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ferocity, praise, self awareness, wind on November 18, 2020| Leave a Comment »
Today when the wind
wrests branches from trees,
cartwheels the watering can
snatches my peace,
I search in me
for a way to praise it,
praise a force strong enough
to rip trees from the earth,
push a ship cross the sea,
and shred what I think I know.
There is in me
a vehement storm
that I have tamed
for fifty years.
Is it any wonder
the wind makes me nervous—
not that I don’t know
how to relate to it,
but oh, because
I do.
One in the Center
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged stillness, wind on July 8, 2020| Leave a Comment »
It Takes (Almost) Everything
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged change, stillness, wind on June 15, 2020| 2 Comments »
The wind, every day now, the
wind, the wind, the clamorous
wind, it lifts my dress and whips
my hair, the riotous wind, it
steals my words, unwinds my thoughts, the
demanding wind, the wilding wind, wind
that spreads fire, wind that unbranches the
cottonwood trees, the wind, the wind unlayers
me, invites me to find someplace still in me,
the wind, the relentless wind.
Ode to the Letter I Didn’t Write
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged anger, letter, ode, wind on June 8, 2020| 2 Comments »
In the spaces between
the words I didn’t write,
there was a pour of poison.
A wall-full of bricks.
The barbs from a hundred hooks.
I almost forgot how in the writing
some of that poison would
slip into me, how I despise
a wall, how each hook
demands a bit of my blood.
I spent hours not writing it,
used up reams of thoughts.
It was a relief when the wind
blew away all the words
except these: I understand.
Those, it let me read again
before they, too, blew away
and I didn’t chase after them.
Invitation
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged choices, poem, poetry, presence, tree, wind on January 8, 2020| Leave a Comment »
The day dares me to become a tree,
dares me to root, to stay in one place,
to choose this here, to plant myself in this now,
to stretch down even as I reach up.
But there are gusts in me, and wild squalls,
whirling impulses that swirl and spin
and whisper to me to be current, be flow.
Winds in me that says go, darling, go.
And the day says stay to me. The day
says, find evergreen in the moment.
The day offers me its ground, its generous soil.
One Resilience
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cottonwood, poem, poetry, resilience, seed, tree, wind on February 24, 2019| 6 Comments »
my heart a cottonwood seed
landed on rock instead of soil—
love says, time to trust the wind
Walking Up the Mill Creek Road, Practicing How to Be Alive
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.
Trickster Ridge
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged poem, poetry, resilience, snakeweed, wind on September 15, 2018| Leave a Comment »
At the edge of the cliff
the wind tousles the snakeweed
into a riot of waving fronds.
They dance and still, and dance
and still, resettling into their natural state
before being danced again.
All morning I have been thinking
about resilience, or more rightly,
resilience has visited me,
not as a thought, more as
a mandate. And here, the snakeweed,
golden flowers lit by sun,
leads me to the edge of the cliff
where the wind whips everything
that dares show up,
and the snakeweed—
stirred, disturbed and rearranged—
has never been more itself.
Making Peace with the Wind in La Sal, Utah
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged la sal, poem, poetry, utah, wind on April 29, 2018| Leave a Comment »
Let’s play, said the wind.
Go away, I said.
Let’s play, said the wind.
Not today, I said.
Right now, said the wind.
But how? I said.
And the wind made a kite
of my auburn hair
and my words of dissent
skipped away on the air.
Play more? said the wind.
Um, sure? I said.
The wind played me like chimes,
played both fierce and tender,
and it whipped me and kissed me
into surrender.
You’ve changed, said the wind.
Rearranged, I said.
Play again? said the wind.
Yes, friend, I said.