I Will Make You Soup

I will make you soup, my Lord and

Fill it with the spices of life so that you may taste the wonders you have given to me.

There will be salt for truth and

Pepper for hurt.

Sugar for love and

Bitters for sadness.

Potatoes will let you taste the flavor of the earth and

Beets, the warmth of the soil.

Carrots will spill out their liquid orange sunshine for your pleasure and

Savory herbs will add flavor to surprise your taste buds with every sip.

My delight in the life you have given me makes me what to give back to you so,

I will make you soup, my Lord

And I will stir it with love.

Holders of Stars

I have joined my sisters and retreated.

Back and back to the very beginning,

Not just my beginning but yours, ours.

Back to when the sacredness of women was honored.

A time when it was known and valued that women were

The givers of life and holders of stars.

Society has changed over the years, but in our hearts there remains

An understanding of the continuity of our original place and purpose.

We know that we are not in or of this world

But exist in our eternal beingness.

We are awake and are coming back to claim our rightful place.

The past is remembered in our collective consciousness and it is with renewed Courage and strength that we again dance in the forest,

And the forest dances in us.

Once more the mountains and ocean belong to us,

And we to them.

Our renewed story is a recognition of our eternal story.

It is the story of our connection to the divine,

Not one limited to any certain place or time but a story for all eternity.

The same eternity that resides in a milkweed bloom, a bird’s egg,

A baby’s laugh, and our hearts.

And although our voices remain soft and gentle, we will no longer be silenced.

We are not done with this world and

The writing of our collective story will never be finished

As it has no beginning or end.

Our time is now and together we will step out of time one by one and

Rejoin our story where we were forced out of it years ago.

We are still the givers of life and

The holders of stars.

Sacred women once more,

As one voice and mind.

Together again and always.

Good Enough

I can’t get to it all,

But its good enough.

I can accept that now.

The urgency for more is gone.

My time is well spent, and it is enough.

Less means more.

More time for each one,

Each bean, each tomato, each seed.

The rows welcome me to the garden

Each day filled with goodness and grace.

Jars, 6 at a time with more tomorrow, gleam on the kitchen counter.

I savor the moments of steaming pots and boiling beets.

Summer heart shared with fogged windows and pinging jar seals.

It is more than good enough.

August

August, a month of

Heavy air, morning mists and summer’s last hurrah.

Its sultry nights are drenched in humid air and thunder

With light shows between the clouds at midnight and

Rain hissing in the dark on the forest green.

Late summer dawns are still and thick and hang over

Flowers spent and gardens full.

In late August the earth speaks to me in fruits and vegetables,

Hay fields and corn rows, empty fields and full root cellars,

Reminding me that Summer’s end is near.

Darkness

The stillness of the night air

Hangs heavy outside my window.

Its darkness threatens to come in,

But my reading light keeps it at bay, and

Although the light is bright, drips of silent night

Sneak in around the edges of my window sill

And puddle on the floor by the curtain hem

To remind me of the darkness that lurks just outside

My window

And my heart.

A Robin Sings at Dawn

 

A robin sings at dawn and

The day breaks on a new world.

 

A world different from the one

The sun set on yesterday.

 

It is the same earth but

A new world.

 

My world is not the same as yours and

Your world can never be the same as mine as I am not you.

 

Our eyes work in the same way, yet

See everything differently.

 

A million souls have been lost since yesterday, but

A million more were born.

 

We are not alone or the same…

 

Watch the progression of the wind through the trees.

Notice how each tree moves to its own song and in its own world.

 

As do we…

 

Do you feel the same breeze that moves the trees?

Do you know and hear their songs?

 

They hear mine…

 

Today, even my heart is different than yesterday’s,

Is yours?

 

In the night my dreams change me and

I wake up in a new world.

 

It happens every morning,

But it’s never the same.

 

The world’s consistency is but an illusion.

 

The ferns leaning against my porch screens are a little taller than they were before.

 

Overnight, more geranium buds have opened and

The garden has drunk up all the water I gave to it yesterday.

 

Everything has changed

Yet appears the same.

The illusion is well practiced and convincing,

 

Or is it?

 

After all, the Robin never fails to sing at dawn.

 

 

Rain

The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as it

Falls in sheets, slides down the roof and over its edge in a curtain of water.

Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and

Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.

The sky is lower on rainy days and

Holds me close to the ground.

Forest sounds are muted and muffled and

Light is  defused into grayness.

It is not a sad and depressing grayness,

But a soothing and peaceful shade,

Full of the necessity of remembered sorrows and joys.

I love a  rainy day that is soft and dark.  It begs me to stop, rest, and be mindful of my surroundings and loves.

It reminds me to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows

Into a place of inner stillness,

And there remain, content to just be and

Accept what is.

Curtis Field in Summer

Between the birdsong and morning sunlight,

Waves of grass sway in unison, while

The melody of life and light

Plays across Curtis field.

Heated mist rises from the grasses in currents of song

And murmurs in harmony with the breath of the encircling trees.

This field holds its life close,

An entire universe existing in the space of a blade of grass.

Life here teams in layers from dirt to dawn and

Root to crown.

This is a place of abundance, an abundance

Kept well hidden beneath layers of grass.

A place for contemplation and peace; one rich with the essence of life.

So please come and sit here with me again.

Get up close and watch,

Feel the warmth of life surrounding us.

Embrace its sweetness and

Hold the magic of this place in your soul forever.

And when your soul remembers, and the time is right, take my hands in yours and

Be with me once more.

Just you and me between the birdsong and morning sunlight.

 

 

3/18/16

 

Extraordinary

Be extraordinary in your ordinariness and

Marvel in the beauty of everyday blessings.

Notice how snow piles up in leeward corners of windows during a storm

And the rings raindrops make in puddles.

Admire the spirit of sunflower seeds sprouting in

October under the bird feeders.

Let the sparkling morning spider webs on

Summer grass fill your eyes with the freshness of love.

Feel the sweetness of warm, wet, baby kisses and

Hear the snap of clean linens on a spring morning clothesline.

Watch and listen for the ordinary ways God speaks to us

A million times a day and see …

Bees dancing on pebbles in the bird bath and

Crisp autumn leaves ringed with October morning frost.

Hear a Wood Thrush’s echoing, haunting song at dusk and

Watch clear glass jars and white porcelain bowls dry on the kitchen counter.

Notice frost fingers splayed across winter windows and

Soak in steaming soup on a cold December day.

Marvel how sun sparkles on freshly fallen snow and

Baby sighs in the night.

Drink in the light in your lover’s eyes and

Savor his sweet kisses at midnight.

Smile at the tea balls ringing like temple bells in the silverware drawer and

A ring of stainless steal measuring spoons in a baby’s fist.

All just ordinary things but extraordinary in their beauty and simplicity,

Just like you and me.

 

2/5/17