Salt

If you’re born with the taste of salt on your

Tongue, in sight of a treetop mast; you tend

To take the wide-angle view, catch the stars,

Explore the seas; and search out the ribbon

That fastens the firmament to earth.

Unending whorls of space, deep reaches

Of ocean clutch at me like the rumble

Of earthquakes. You who are ground

And sky and sea, remember me. I tremble

Like a blown leaf on damp trampled sand.

I am not the wave who washes all things

Clean nor the shore who reaches for the lost.

I am the seashell with its ear wide open, the

Blade of grass who bends to listen for the

Possibilities in every breath.

morning prayer by mary oliver

Morning Prayer by Mary Oliver

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into  leaves again

and fasten themselves to the ;high branches--

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere

and if your spirit carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead--

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging--

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted--

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

Early Morning Swim

From the glass house that holds

The swimming pool, we view

The slow roll of the seasons.

Yesterday the forsythia bloomed,

Today we’re etched with snow.

A jolt of blue erases the grey

Until we brim with the boldness

Of brass. The pathway to Spring

Is like hopscotch: two squares

Forward and one square back. I keep on

Throwing my one small stone until the

Chalk wears off and I leave for home.

April 19, 2014

I am impressed by the tongue that

Forms the sounds that make the words

That grant us conversation and the

Ability to call each other by name.

I am myself and no one else. I can

Account for only what goes on inside

My head. There are people who come

Close to being one with me but parts

Of them I do not recognize.   

We are encouraged to be individual,

Yet there is admiration for those

Who give up parts of themselves to

Benefit the many: the musician, the

medicals, those who search for God.

March 29, 2014

March was a repetition of January...bitter cold to the end. Today was my second walk to the garden patches. It is 47 degrees this morning and somewhat damp. We expect rain this afternoon. One hardy gardener was tilling the soil which can hardly be free of frost yet. Snowdrops still look newly born, crocus are starting to bloom and daffodils have pierced the soil. The thread-like blooms of the witch hazel would be better appreciated if last years leaves would exit.

Amanda and her church group leave Guatemala this morning after their weak-long mission trip. I see smiling children's faces on Facebook while the group was visiting a school. Looks like the kids really latched on to these foreign visitors.

Instead of Spring

One year, it kept on snowing

and spring failed to appear.

Ground floor entrances were

buried, so we skied in and out

of second story windows.

The only way to find food was

by helicopter or dog sled. We flew in

extra dogs to help keep the trails packed.

It saved a lot of wear on highways

and since traffic lights were useless,

we shut down all the windmills. We

special-ordered barrels and parachutes.

When seed catalogs arrived, we burned

them in the barrels to keep the dogs warm.

We kept parachutes wrapped in backpacks

in case we needed a doctor or hospital.

We never discovered where spring

had gone but after the melt and

after the mud, we found roses

and peonies in full bloom,

as well as grasshoppers and

red-winged blackbirds

in the fields.

Childhood memories: Nonsense Song

It was midnight on the ocean;
Not a street car was in sight.
The sun was shining brightly,
And it rained all day that night.

'Twas a summer's night in winter
And the rain was snowing fast.
A barefoot boy with shoes on
Stood sitting on the grass.

....It was evening and the rising sun
Was setting in the West.
The little fishes in the trees
Were huddled in their nest.

While the organ peeled potatoes,
Lard was rendered by the choir.
While the sexton rang the dish rag,
Someone set the church on fire.

"Holy Smoke," the preacher shouted,
And in the rush he lost his hair.
Now his head resembles heaven,
For there is no parting there....