Wild Thoughts

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” so says Emily Dickinson. “When despair for the world grows in me I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and I come into the peace of wild things.” Borrowed, of course, from Wendell Berry. When…

Spring Polarities It’s the freeze at night, thaw by day cycle of early spring that gets the sap flowing. Freezing creates negative pressure that condenses cells in the tree. Thawing causes positive pressure, which expands those cells. The sugary sap of the maple thus flows up and down the tree….

Insurrection We humans are quite a mess these days. Ranging from blind rage to unsettled to terrified. Maybe we’re always like this, but right now we seem particularly public in our display. What are we to do with this onslaught of emotions? I ask myself that a lot these days….

Owl She’s not there all the time. Just enough to keep me looking up. I round the corner at the back of the yard where the tall pines grow, approaching, always, with hushed anticipation. Just in case. Sometimes she’s there roosting on the limb that must be the right combination…

Taking it in   Early snow. So many leaves still in the midst of autumn. From radiant yellows to deep red, russet, and orange really, the leaves were just getting started. Then, big wet flakes drifted down. All day long. Until seven inches blanketed the ground.   Now brightly colored…

Lyrics to Cicada’s Song Dressed in rain gear to deflect burrs I plunge into the woods that border my yard. It’s an annual event trying to remove the burrs from the ground which is far easier than from the dog. Burrs might well take over the world so designed are…

May the warmth of the sun kiss your skin and nourish your body. May the rains wash clean that which is ready to let go, and wrap you in a garment of undying love.

What we need around these whispered fears is to breathe deeply
allow our tender hearts to open to compassion
for ourselves, our loved ones, and all beings near and far.

If we do this right—and by that I mean with grace and compassion—perhaps we’ll see ourselves in strangers. Really see ourselves for the global family that we are.

Owl Hope For a poet to be rendered speechless, well,  that takes something out of the ordinary.   Like the Barred Owl who has chosen to roost on a tall pine in my yard.   I saw the droppings first and the tell-tale pellets that told me she was—or had…