Blue Heron

Today an amazing great blue heron visited me. I frightened it away before I could take a picture. Its visit prompted this little poem. The photo is one taken at Woods Canyon Lake in Arizona several years ago.

Blue Heron

A great blue heron landed on my roof

with a thump as heavy as its shadow

that disrupted the morning light flooding

my living room just moments before

I was already delighting in the sun and sky

and the chickadees, finches, and jays flitting

from tree to roof to window sill

joyously celebrating a glorious sunday

Its immediate gifts of wonder and awe

are not even among legendary gifts of peace, luck,

and wisdom linked to it by ancient people

around the globe and across time

But I can't help but think the name great lord bird

is wasted on the shy destructive pecker of woods

when it could so easily be applied to

the somber elegance of the heron’s flight

The Last Leaves

 

The Last Leaves

The last of the leaves on the scarlet oak

glisten spritely in the wintery sun

I wonder if they feel joy at the prospect

of joining their sisters on the ground below

or whether they have contests to see

which might be lifted by the wind

And blown farthest from the tree

Outside My Window

 

Outside My Window

 

Everyone should be so lucky

As to have a tree

Just outside their kitchen window

That casts its shadow in winter

As a clock to trace the path of each day’s sun

 

It’s not the squirrels that draw my eye

or busy jays in relentless pursuit of a meal

It’s the movement of the sun across the sky

cast as a slow moving image hour by hour

revealing the placement of each hour’s shadow

 

There’s a comfort in plunging my hands

into the warmth of soapy dish water

watching how the stark bareness of the trees

allows the warming cadence of the day

to relentlessly remind me of the passage of time

The Heart of Spirit

On the back roads between my house and town, there are several stands of pine that look purple if you catch them just right in the late afternoon. They took my breath away and prompted this poem. I keep going back to them to try and capture the majestic light, but so far have not been able to get it quite right. This poem is actually the only poem of mine that has been "published" anywhere, and only in the Crones' Counsel Newsletter, but still I see that as a win. And it might be my favorite poem I've written so far.

The Heart of Spirit

 

If you wish to experience the heart of spirit

Look no farther than the pine trees at sunset

Standing like sentinels in rows just off the road

Inviting you to admire their deep purple trunks

 

If you wish to luxuriate in nature’s purest heart

Sit beneath the oak in springtime at noon

And listen to her breathe in sync with your own breath

In a silent meditation of healing for all that is

 

If you wish to feel the pulse of the planet’s soul

Lie down upon the soft moss on a warm afternoon

And allow the loamy scent to ebb and flow within and without 

Like the breath of distant ancestors who lie below 

 

The heart of spirit is all this and more 

It also lives in the misty pink innocence of an ocean’s new day

In the exuberance of vermillion leaves against a cloudless sky in spring 

And in the shimmering golden sunset water before last light

 

So lie in a hammock on a breezy day and

hum with the chorus of the whispering oaks

Or wander through forests and meadows or beside a still creek

With little thought but to know the purity and perfection of the day

And merely allow the heart of spirit to beat within your own

Favorite Tree

The other day I saw a presentation by Susan Tyler Hitchcock who has written several books including Gather Ye Wild Things and Into the Forest - the Secret Language of Trees. To prompt discussion, she suggested that we talk about our favorite tree, and thinking about the favorite trees in my life prompted this poem. I am thinking that this poem might be the basis for a book - not exactly a children's book, but a picture book painted in watercolor or soft muted acrylic washes, published in a format looking like a children's book. The illustrations for this poem may become my winter project. The photo here shows the heart-shaped crown of the scarlet oak that stands tall in my front yard - my current favorite tree, It has not yet reached this stage of color, but should in the next week or two. 

Favorite Tree

 

Do you like me have a favorite tree

or more than one like two or three

one to climb and one for shade

and one for peaceful memories made

 

When I was young my tree was too

just right to climb for me and you

and strong enough to sway us free

and help us split the air with glee

 

In teenage years I loved an oak

a boy too … we softly spoke

our words of love under the canopy

and leaves fell like tears when he would leave

 

Sycamore rocked my babies three

And watched them grow quite lovingly

Its bough held strong and did not break

while happy memories it helped us make

 

When love came late to heart and soul

a cottonwood all gnarled and bold

was like the symbol of our love

connecting earth to sky above

 

And on this land that now I share

with oaks and hickories, beech and pear

the scarlet oak’s my favorite one

her heart shaped crown my heart has won

 

I’ve loved them all but have to know

Do you love trees and help them grow

Do you like me have a favorite tree

or more than one like two or three

Fall

 

Fall

Fall slides by us in a quick progression

from the last rasp of the cicada

to the colors whose beauty lulls us into

hoping the coming winter might be tender and mild

The songs of the cicadas and katydids

are replaced by the whispering sliss, sliss, sliss

of leaves underfoot like a lullaby that prepares us

for the silent stillness of winter’s chill slumber

 

I watch from my window as the turning of leaves

moves as surely as the hands on a clock from

withering tulip tree and flaming dogwood to

golden hickory and finally to scarlet oak’s crescendo

 

There’s a sadness in these golden days

for those of us who feel the changing light

as a mantle that won’t be lifted until long after

the last withering beech leaf has finally let go

 

But underfoot in the leaf litter that remains

the promise of renewal lies wrapped in cocoons

nesting in a bed of rich decay that will

ensure that earth’s promise of spring is fulfilled

 

10-21-22

Mandala Designs

Many people know that I am in love with bugs, and well, with nature in general. Most of my photography is based on nature. I also love kaleidoscopes. A few years ago, I began playing around with deconstructing my photos and reconstructing them into mandalas. I've printed a few on nice cotton rag paper, and I have even sold one of them. Mostly they sit in a pile waiting for me to get the energy to matte them. I have used some online tools to make coasters with these designs, and they're really cool as coasters, but I don't know how to do it cheaply enough to make it worth doing as a commercial product to sell. I'm collecting images of Fall leaves right now to add to this collection. 

If you want to see all of the mandala designs, they are posted on my Flickr site (Mandala Designs - Photo Manipulations | Flickr).