Sunday, August 25, 2024

Miracle Fair


Commonplace miracle:

that so many commonplace miracles happen.

An ordinary miracle:

in the dead of night

the barking of invisible dogs.

One miracle out of many:

a small, airy cloud

yet it can block a large and heavy moon.

Several miracles in one:

an alder tree reflected in the water,

and that it’s backwards left to right

and that it grows there, crown down

and never reaches the bottom,

even though the water is shallow.

An everyday miracle:

winds weak to moderate

turning gusty in storms.

First among equal miracles:

cows are cows.

Second to none:

just this orchard

from just that seed.

A miracle without a cape and top hat:

scattering white doves.

A miracle, for what else could you call it:

today the sun rose at three-fourteen

and will set at eight-o-one.

A miracle, less surprising than it should be:

even though the hand has fewer than six fingers,

it still has more than four.

A miracle, just take a look around:

the world is everywhere.

An additional miracle, as everything is additional:

the unthinkable

is thinkable.

—Wislawa Szymborska

Translated by Joanna Trzeciak




What This Is Not

 This is not just surprise and pleasure.

This is not just beauty sometimes
too hot to touch.

This is not a blessing with a beginning
and an end.

This is not just a wild summer.
This is not conditional.

—-Mary Oliver

[Photo taken in Seabeck, WA - August 2024]



Wednesday, August 14, 2024

Volunteer Maple


From a sapling 

decades ago,

the volunteer maple

in the row of pines

behind the barn,

arrayed with hand-sized 

green leaves,

now shows itself 

more substantial 

than the pair 

we planted 

next to the house 

for shade.


I don’t yet know

what the lesson is here,

only that 

after all this time

I am just noticing

how the tree took root

and thrived

without our intention

compared to everything

around it 

needing care:


astilbe, 

painted fern,

hydrangea, and lilac –

even the lawn,

which has become

almost half clover

for the bees 

to feast on,

softly buzzing, 

during their season 

of need.

--Jason Harlow (son of a colleague, friend, and Vermont neighbor).

[Photos of the Volunteer Maple].



Saturday, August 10, 2024

These I Can Promise

 

I cannot promise you a life of sunshine;
I cannot promise you riches, wealth or gold;
I cannot promise you an easy pathway
That leads away from change or growing old.

But I can promise all my heart’s devotion;
A smile to chase away your tears of sorrow.
A love that’s true and ever growing;
A hand to hold in your’s through each tomorrow.

--Mark Twain

[Celebrating our 45th anniversary on our back deck in TN]. 



Requiem for Trees

  i like to imagine the community of trees, passing along the news on autumn’s heavy breaths - We’ve lost anothe...