October 10

 

Now constantly there is the sound,
quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds
loud—a landmark—now
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.

--Wendell Berry

Joy Chose You

 

Joy does not arrive with a fanfare
on a red carpet strewn

with the flowers of a perfect life

joy sneaks in

as you pour a cup of coffee

watching the sun

hit your favorite tree

just right

and you usher joy away

because you are not ready for her

your house is not as it should be

for such a distinguished guest

but joy, you see

cares nothing for your messy home

or your bank balance

or your waistline

joy is supposed to slither through

the cracks of your imperfect life

that's how joy works

you cannot truly invite her

you can only be ready

when she appears

and hug her with meaning

because in this very moment

joy chose you.

--Donna Ashworth

[Photo of the joy of our daughter with her daughters.]

For Suffering

 

May you be blessed in the holy names of those
Who, without you knowing it,
Help to carry and lighten your pain.

May you know serenity
When you are called
To enter the house of suffering.

May a window of light always surprise you.

May you be granted the wisdom
To avoid false resistance;
When suffering knocks on the door of your life,
May you glimpse its eventual gifts.

May you be able to receive the fruits of suffering.

May memory bless and protect you
With the hard-earned light of past travail;
To remind you that you have survived before
And though the darkness now is deep,
You will soon see the approaching light.

May the grace of time heal your wounds.

May you know that though the storm might rage,
Not a hair of your head will be harmed.

--John O’Donohue

At Home

 

At home amidst
the bees
wandering
the garden
in the summer
light
the sky
a broad roof
for the house
of contentment
where I wish
to
live forever
in the eternity
of my own
fleeting
and momentary
happiness.

I walk toward
the kitchen
door as if walking
toward the
door of a recognized
heaven

and see the
simplicity
of shelves and
the blue dishes
and the
vapouring 
steam rising
from the kettle
that called me in.

Not just this
aromatic cup
from which to drink
but the flavour
of a life made whole
and lovely
through the
imagination
seeking its way.

Not just this
house around me
but the arms
of a fierce
but healing world.

Not just this line
I write
but the
innocence
of an earned
forgiveness
flowing again
through hands
made new with
writing.

And a man
with no company
but his house,
his garden,
and his own
well peopled solitude,

entering
the silences
and chambers
of the heart
to start again.

--David Whyte

[Photos of a perfect summer day here in Vermont.]

Holy as a Day is Spent

Holy is the dish and drain
The soap and sink and the cup and plate
Warm wool socks and the cold white tile

Shower heads and good dry towels
And frying eggs sound like psalms
With bits of salt measured in my palm
It's all a part of a sacrament
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the busy street
The cars that boom with passion's beat
And the check out girl counting change
And the hands that shook my hands today

And hymns of geese fly overhead
And spread their wings like their parents did
Blessed be the dog that runs in her sleep
To chase some wild and elusive thing

Holy is the familiar room
And quiet moments in the afternoon
And folding sheets like folding hands
To pray as only laundry can

I'm letting go of all my fear
Like autumn leaves made of earth and air
For the summer came and the summer went
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the place I stand
To give whatever small good I can
And the empty page and the open book
Redemption everywhere I look

Unknowingly we slow our pace
In the shade of unexpected grace
And with grateful smiles and sad lament
As holy as a day is spent

And morning light sings providence
As holy as a day is spent

--Carrie Newcomer

Advice for a Gray Afternoon

 

Do not assume the worst, a trap 

Loneliness sets for old age, 

Or make impossible demands 

On your equally lonesome peers. 

Set your children free, 

Not always at your beck and call. 

Because your needs keep growing 

And are endless, don’t imagine 

There are answers to everything 

Your heart cries Yes to. 

Give yourself permission to question 

Certainties you once bet your life on. 

Establish and maintain a good forgettery, 

Welcome that angel with others. 

Make trust the keeper of your house. 

Sit in the sun that banishes doldrums, 

Useless apologies, guilt. 

Open your eyes, uncurl your fingers, 

Take in what you need. 

Give sleep the upper hand, 

Fall often into the arms of that god.

--Jeanne Lohmann

[Photo of my beautiful mother who makes her own sunshine].

In the White Sky

 

Many things in the world have
already happened. You can
go back and tell about them.
They are part of what we
own as we speed along
through the white sky.

But many things in the world
haven't yet happened. You help
them by thinking and writing and acting.
Where they begin, you greet them
or stop them. You come along
and sustain the new things.

Once, in the white sky there was
a beginning, and I happened to notice
and almost glimpsed what to do.
But now I have come far
to here, and it is away back there.
Some days, I think about it.

--William Stafford

[Celebrating the beginning of our granddaughter Ella's 3rd year].