up the dipping road
mountain arm is bear’s shoulder
my home lies below
______________________________________
multiple joys of September, cloud fingers dip into mountain creases, swamp maples step forward, my pine flags flying, one more trip around the sun complete
gift from love’s pilgrim
my words have danced in your heart
they leap free again
_____________________________________
yesterday the Third Cousins Club met again. three cousins, Cassie, Elizabeth, and me, descended in separate lines from the same great great grandfather, knowing nothing of the others until an accidental discovery grew into a connection that has joined three family lines. Elizabeth’s sister Susan was there at the beginning with all of us, but she died this year. So Elizabeth has just made what I can only think of as a pilgrimage to the ocean places they loved together. what a brave and loving sister gift this was, saying goodbye again, ashes left to be a part of memories.
gold eye of the sun
reaches over mountain arm
gentle morning touch
_______________________
the position of the sun in late August here makes sunrise a delicate process. you see, the sun has already “risen” by the time it comes to Bear Farm. We are tucked into one of the mountain’s arms and the first sunlight edges leaves and needles of the tree crowns. gently.
slanting through green woods
sly streaks of sun appearing
in the textured dark
_______________________________________
seeing early sun glance through woods from a window I leave the house to search. finding beam’s end is morning’s reward.
gray light soft soothing
smell of rain floats close to me
sound of trees drinking
_________________________________
our senses welcome rain breaking a drought. it has been a very dry summer.
heat blankets the skin
my bones lay it down against
the thought of winter
__________________________
the extremes of summer and winter call to each other; one recent february was so unremittingly cold that I vowed to remember it come summer, and not complain!
we are only free
shed of anger hate and fear
bare but for love
see each forward step
my own not for another
true gift of friendship
____________________________
The way forward for a friend sometimes seems clear to me, but not for them. The hard thing is to step back, find the wisdom to make changes in my own life, and let them work it out. They already know that I care.
accepting the muse
black head warms my foot again
reaching for note book
_________________________________
Horace likes to sit under the kitchen table when I write, with his head across my foot. I had planned to write later in the day today, but clearly my muse thought otherwise.
red squirrel leaping
apple held fast in its mouth
single thought is food
_________________________________________
Day 27. An encounter with a determined little red squirrel. I was outside eating a green apple. The squirrel saw me; I waved at him, apple in hand, then tossed it, almost eaten, on the grass near a rhododendron. Running around the back of the bush the squirrel emerged at the front, snatching the apple and ran up a spruce tree with it. Came back down a minute or two later. Looking for the nest I imagined to be in the tree, I came upon the squirrel’s pantry. The apple sat on one of the branches.
today you are here
memory washing over thoughts
in my heart always
_____________________________
Day 25. The onset of spring always brings him back to walk the peaks. The dogs sit with me, waiting for the sudden tears to stop.
teetering on green
lush verdance on the verge
shy apple blossom
________________________________
Day 24. Each morning we are another inch closer. Surely spring is holding its breath, and must go boom.
Thoughts on and off the trail of Life.
This Blog is about discovering the magic of forests in every aspect of life from a small plant in a metropolis to the forests themselves
another day in the joy of making connection
it could be that
an online literary journal
Just another WordPress.com weblog
a journey with spirit
- A Quarry House Blog
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts
life's wHeirdness and wonder
A great WordPress.com site
One Southern Girl's Life in Vermont
Finding My Voice
poetry & essays
Exploring Nature in New Hampshire
I am the proudest.
Quilts, potholders and handbags out of recycled clothes and fabric
By Diane Fiore
Life on the farm...life in general.
Making beautiful marks on my world
Life and death and sleeping on the ground
