Joy

Something Will Come of It

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I’ve been listening to this often:

“Into The Stream”

I’ve set the rain
to be cold and hard
I’ve set the sun to
be bright and sharp
To wake you up
from your hollow dream
I’ll shake your bed
with a thunder strike
from my hand
Let’s come all steal
we will lie and cheat
and turn around
all their limit signs
and redirect this
this great old boring road
into the depths
of a lion’s mouthJust to see
if there’s something we believe.
I suspect something will come of it.
On a more practical note, it’s almost time to pack up the bedroom “studio” before the house showing. Ugg !

Two Muses for my Feet

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The photographer has taken the camera and fled to the wilderness, so you have to imagine the scene. The garden is in all its fall glory, which is to say it is a mess of almost spent plants accompanied by an understory of weeds going to seed (but oh so beautiful). I could claim a case of tendentious as a weed excuse, but truthfully past falls have been similar. A small flock of Chipping Sparrows came yesterday to glean those weed seeds. They seemed particularly fond of the crab grass. A few Goldfinches, dressed now in duller tones, kept lookout from drying spikes of wild Evening Primrose. I took their presence as a blessing on my wild gardening ways.

I read this line today:

… learn to know, and to love (yes, no matter how hard you think it might be) the place where your foot first falls when you step out of the door.

I think I’ve managed that with our little piece of urban land. And now, each footfall will be a long good-bye. This coming summer we will be moving back to the west coast and the place that has always felt like home. We’re excited, and sad, and hopeful. We’ll walk paths long remembered but transformed in our absence. Hopefully, both old and new will be muses for my feet to love.

The Clear Warm Light of April

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Spring, and I accidentally woke toad with my garden cleaning. He spent a minute rubbing his eyes and looking seriously grumpy before slowly heading off for quieter environs.

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I was soon thinking of one of my favourite stories (for young or old), and a whole new year.

“Spring”  in “Frog and Toad are Friends ” by Arnold Lobel

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The Day I Met the Dalai Lama

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The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I don’t remember what the weather was.

But it was in front of our church,

so it wasn’t raining.

I know that at least.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I don’t remember how old I was.

But she held my hand,

and I knew Love.

I remember that seed.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

He looked like a small nun.

Not the old fashioned kind;

her only distinguishing marks,

were a large cross and a practical navy skirt.

 

The day I met the Dalai Lama,

I might have been mistaken.

I might have met Guanyin,

or the Buddha,

or even Jesus.

 

But, we’ve all seen

the Dalai Lama on TV.

And sometimes,

seeing is believing.

The Sun is Risen

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The snow still lingered

on north slopes

and under cedar.

But today,

today was resurrection Sun Day,

and the bees and I came to worship.

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Winter Aconite
Eranthis hyemalis

Inside Out

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Rain-drops

 

It is wet, wet, wet outside,

and so I’m listening inside.

Sara Kay

 

Like a Kiss

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Garlic

I wandered outside after dinner

and the warm night air was like a slow kiss.

In the afternoon,

in the exuberance of the spring weather

I took to the garden,

and hunted in the mulch

and found the garlic sprouts; like a promise

of more good things to come.