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].

Advanced Book Search

"I can’t remember what it’s called

but I’m pretty sure it has a green cover.

What I do know is that the author’s name

starts with a P. Or possibly a K.

One of the consonants, definitely.

She was talking about it on Radio 4 last week –

although now I come to think of it,

it may have been Radio 2. On Monday.

It’s a novel. Set in Bridgend, if that helps.

No, hang on … Bridport. Or Brisbane?

She did sound Australian, in a Welsh kind of way.

At least, I think it’s a novel. It might be

an autobiography. Or a travel guide.

But I am certain it has a green cover

because I saw a picture of it

in the newspaper a few weeks ago,

although that could have been another book …”

are words that take a long time to type

into an online search box,

and lead to unsatisfactory results.

I ask my local bookseller instead,

who fetches the book from the shelf.

Turns out the cover was red.

--Brian Bilston

What is June Anyway?

After three weeks of hot weather and drought,

           we've had a week of cold and rain,

just the way it ought to be here in the north,

            in June, a fire going in the woodstove

all day long, so you can go outside in the cold

            and rain anytime and smell

the wood smoke in the air.

 

This is the way I love it. This is why

           I came here almost

fifty years ago. What is June anyway

          without cold and rain

and a fire going in the stove all day?

--David Budbill

[Another cool and wet June day in Vermont].

A Momentary Creed

 

I believe in the ordinary day
that is here at this moment and is me

I do not see it going its own way
but I never saw how it came to me

it extends beyond whatever I may
think I know and all that is real to me

it is the present that it bears away
where has it gone when it has gone from me

there is no place I know outside today
except for the unknown all around me

the only presence that appears to stay
everything that I call mine it lent me

even the way that I believe the day
for as long as it is here and is me

--W. S. Merwin