LIVING LIKE LEAVES

     As I was watching some leaves skipping in the wind this way and that across the grass this morning, I thought about the back-and-forth skipping my life often does. Time and again, I seem to bounce around from plan to plan, promise to promise, goal to goal – happily giving myself permission to change my mind, double back, rethink things, take a new trail. One fine idea gives way to a finer one. One second I decide to take the trash out, but then, in a flash, I do the dishes instead. At 9:00 I know exactly what I want to do this afternoon, but at 9:01 a

"Autumn Landscape", oil,
by Heidi Malott

more wonderful plan appears. Back and forth, here and there, this and that, one thing and then another. Leaves let themselves loose to the winds, and so, sometimes, do I. Life shifts and skips second by second, and – usually with a smile – so do I. 

WATCHING THE FIRE

He watched the flames surround the logs and flare

and fall back down. He didn’t think, review

his list, or plan ahead. His only care

was watching sparks and smoke fly up the flue,

and then to who knows where? Could pieces of

this fire float out to distant lands? Might planes

pass sparks that came from this small hearth, and love

it like a special sign? Could fears and pains

in far off towns be cured by sparks that flew

to them and shined as brightly as they shined

among the flames?

                   

                  His life now seemed brand new.

The flames were like the thoughts inside his mind.

WHEN HE RETIRED

(A Sonnet)

When he retired, he missed his students’ care

and kindness, all their little gifts of true

respect which always helped him see and share

their goodness. Every day was fresh and new

when students shared his classroom and his love

of books and words. But, in retirement

he had someone who seemed to be above

all things that came before. They turned and went

their way together, sharing happiness

and worry, giving gifts of seasoned joy

and understanding, which they used to bless

each others’ lucky lives. He was a boy

with her, and she was now his steady girl.

He lost his students, but he found a pearl. 

  

QUIET MORNING

It was a quiet morning,

perfectly made for making happiness

in partnership. The trees

seemed to be joyous

in each other’s presence,

bringing their branches

as close as possible,

and the blueness of the sky

seemed happy to hold its light

lightly just above the houses,

as if in friendship, while

she and he shared words

"Morning's Promise",
oil by Roxanne Steed

with kindness across a table.    

AMAZEMENT

He is full of amazement.

It amazes him, for instance,

that he is lucky enough to be alive

on this fine-looking planet,

lucky to look at his wife

raising the blinds on another

amazing morning, lucky to listen

to the furnace filling the house

with warmth. He admires

so much – the way his pencils

seem wonderful for writing,

the feel of his flannel shirt,

the unfurling of a friendly day.

Amazing! he says to himself,

and sips his remarkable coffee.

  

THOUGHTS ON VETERANS DAY

"Grateful Thanks", watercolor,
by Julie Ford Oliver   

I am not a veteran, and, like most of us, I despise war, but this day, when we honor the men and women who served to keep safe our freedoms, is a very special one for me. I am beyond grateful for the liberty I am lucky to enjoy here, and for the faithful protection provided by our armed forces. I wish we didn’t need women and men with weapons watching around the world to safeguard us from attack, but contempt and loathing for our country does exist, and I’m glad we have good soldiers, sailors, and flyers ready to fight for all of us. I’m lucky to live in a land where freedom can be found by anyone, and I give thanks today for that freedom’s defenders.     

PUTTING HER GARDEN TO BED

A sonnet

He cleared his mother’s garden in the fall,

the one he planted in her memory.

It was a special place for him, a small

reminder of her thoughtfulness. At three

o’clock he finally finished. All the piles

of withered blossoms lay in heaps beside

him, but he smiled because her loving smiles

seemed right beside him too. She had supplied

him with the love to last a lifetime, and

the garden was his way of saying thanks.

When spring arrives again, a fresh new land

of flowers will arrive for her. Whole banks

of blossoms will be flourishing in ways

a mother's love is given-- in bouquets.

CHOOSING A PAINTING FOR WINTER

"Morning Grace",
oil
by Roxanne Steed

CHOOSING A PAINTING FOR WINTER

(a sonnet)

The wind was howling and the trees were bent

and almost broken down. The day was fierce

with autumn’s spirit and desire. It sent

a message meaning winter’s chill would pierce

their world soon, but they were snug and warm

with summer in their hearts. They hoped to buy

a painting full of comfort. In a storm

of snow, the painting would be a bright sky

of summer in their home, a sunny day

above their mantel, a scene so full 

of August light that it would chase away

the season’s icy mistiness. To pull

themselves from winter back to summer, all

MIRACLES

MIRACLES

"There Are No Minor Miracles"
oil, by Carol Keene

“Why! who makes much of a miracle?

As to me, I know nothing else but miracles . . .

To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle.”

            -- Walt Whitman, “Miracles”

         There are thousands of things I’ve never seen –stars over Asia, rivers in a rain forest, the sun setting on icy cliffs. I could prepare a plentiful list of sounds I’ll never hear, places of splendor I’ll never see. I could spend a dozen days just counting the marvels I’ve missed.

         On the other hand, I could, instead, spend those dozen days listing the little and large spectacles I’ve been lucky enough to witness. In fact, it would take me dozens of days, months maybe, to review the astonishing events that have flowed through my life day after day. Have they all been grand and glorious, like mountain sunrises? Nope, but they’ve all been miracles, from the dust that sits beside me on my desk in appealing patterns, to the way wind whips tree branches around on a fall day, to the 80-year-old lady with squinting eyes who lost two husbands but is doing Scottish dancing several days a week, to the two leaves that just fluttered past the window where I’m typing these words with my old but incredibly lively fingers.   

REJECTION

He sent some poems away to magazines,

and soon they all returned with frowns, and said

they were rejected. He was sad because

they were his friends, these modest groups

of simple words, and so he set them in the light

and let them glow again the way they did

when they had first appeared inside his mind

like lilting dancers or singers singing songs

he’d never heard. They seemed to smile again,

these small unwanted poems, and so he smiled,

and then the world spun again and sent

him several new and tuneful twirling poems.

GREAT STORIES

I was saying to Delycia this morning that the recent events in the life of one of our friends would make a great story, and shortly after, I found myself thinking about some other great stories surrounding us. There’s the story of why the sun shines the way it does day after day, the story of how night knows just when to start its stars shining, the story of this spinning, handsome earth and its inhabitants, the story of a single spider on a shaking web beside the house. There’s the story of how a new breath brings new life to both of our lungs, the story of our muscles somehow showing our bodies how to move, and the story of our bones bearing our weight with reasonable ease. These are stunning little everyday stories that make our lives – and all lives -- great in different and distinctive ways.  

SHE HOPES SHE CAN HELP

"Coffee Shop",
watercolor,
by Nita Leger Casey

She always tries to pour a perfect cup

of coffee. She cares about her customers,

about their sorrows and their unfolding

futures. The steam from the coffee

floats upward like her feelings for Frank,

who comes in at five minutes to five every

morning to improve his life a little.

She hopes she can help him by handing him

a flawless cup of coffee as the sun lifts

itself and lets the new day start. She

smiles because she knows there will be

another customer for her after Frank.

FOLLOWING THOUGHTS

FOLLOWING THOUGHTS

If you follow a thought,

you could find where it goes

and what it does.

It’s fairly easy.

You can simply stand somewhere,

perhaps on a promising morning,

and just release a thought,

be it scary or joyous,

worrisome or soothing,

and just watch where it goes,

and then follow it.

Stay close enough

so you see its special colors

as it steps along

through the universe of thoughts,

and soon enough,

it will slip off

into nothingness, and then,

standing restful and

separate from your thoughts,

you can set another one free

and follow it, just

for fun and instruction.

WHEN YOU FEEL OLD

WHEN YOU FEEL OLD

You could speak to strangers like

you love them. You could carry

someone’s loneliness and discover

you can do it. You could speak

a friend’s name and know it would

be known by the birds in her garden.

You could give the gift of listening

to someone who’s struggling, and you

could struggle, when you have to,

like it’s not a struggle, but a test

you’ve studied for and will ace.

A PERFECT MORNING

A PERFECT MORNING

"Morning at Pratt Rock",
acrylic
by Jamie Williams Grossman

It was a perfect morning. The lamplight

in the living room looked precisely

like it had to look, and the table cloth

was wrinkled in all the right places.

His fingers were impeccably old, his

breathing whistled in quintessential ways,

and his heartbeats splendidly shuffled

on this thoroughly immaculate morning.

SIGNALS

"Morning Moon", oil,
by Carol Keene

SIGNALS

The sky stood up one morning

and made a signal to him,

like people might make

when happiness is holding them.

It was a September sky

with blueness so bright

it brought him a blessing

as he sipped his coffee,

and he signaled back

to the sky that he too

was happy and hoped

the sky and he

would stay that way. 

Saturday 9/13/14

Thursday 9/11/14

Wed., Sept 10, 2014

I DONT NEED MUCH

“I DON’T NEED MUCH”

(Elizabeth D., age 62)

“I don't need much. The sun shining

for even a short time on a dark day

is fine for me. A glass of shining water

in my hand, a piece of toast

perfectly prepared, the sound of footsteps

in soft snow - all these are enough

to bring a feeling of fulfillment.

I eat my meals from a small plate

on a small table. One simple window

in the kitchen lets in a lovely light

which always seems to surround my table

and my small plate with optimism.”

WALKING WITH A FRIEND

"Intimate Friends":,
oil on birch panel
by Gerald Schwartz

WALKING WITH A FRIEND

Walking with his best friend on a summer day

is a new beginning for him. It’s a way

of getting gifts from the sunshine,

a way of seeing a sure sign

that there are more smiles than smirks

in this world. He feels the works

of love inside them as they walk,

hears the sounds of quietness as they talk.

He sometimes feels like he’s flying,

especially when the trees are sighing

in friendship while they walk. The gate

called Peace opens for them. They create

a brand new world for each other, a rebirth

each moment of him and her and the earth.

THE GRACEFULNESS IN LIFE

THE GRACEFULNESS IN LIFE

(what Millie, age 69, said at Rocky Neck Beach)

 

"Leading Edge", oil on panel,
by Robin Cheers

I lost a loved one years ago,

but this beach will be with me forever.

I live in a small house now,

but this sandy shore is my home,

this holy place of pretty birds

and waves that wash ashore

with so much style. My son died

of alcohol poisoning at seventeen,

but sometimes I still see Stevie

sliding toward me on the surf.

He bought a surfboard at fifteen,

and flowed with the waves

as gracefully as anyone ever has.

Now, I come to this beautiful beach

to live my elderly life

with the smoothness of Stevie’s surfing,

to see the gracefulness in life

that doesn’t need beer to be seen.

THE CLEAREST LIGHT

(what Jennie O., age 66, a clerk at the supermarket, said)

“I see lots of sad people at the store,

folks who have forgotten how full of kindness

life can be. I can’t blame them, of course,

since I’m sure they’ve seen enough suffering

to switch off all the light in their lives.

I like my job because maybe I can bring

some sunlight into their overcast lives, just

for a second or two. Simply a smile from me

can maybe make someone see the kindness

that cares for all of us, always, except

that sometimes we don’t notice it. I send out

my friendship to every shopper, especially

the ones whose sorrow seems to surround them.

I hand them their receipt, and a smile,

because kindness is the clearest light.”  

JUST SITTING

(with Delycia at The Common Man Hotel, Claremont, NH, 8/27/2014)

Sitting with tea in our hotel room

reminded me that some things

are nearly always sitting. The stones

in riverbeds sit still for centuries

while the water washes and polishes them

so kayakers can see them sitting

and shining in their places. A lamp

sits on a table for days and days

and doesn’t move, whether sorrow surrounds

the people in the house, or joy joins

their hands in reassurance. The lamp

let’s things happen while it just sits.

The hotel, too, takes its time

and simply sits where it is

as we and the planets and stars swirl

through this leisurely universe.    


                                  The Common Man Inn, Claremont, NH

IN GOOD HANDS

 

"Starry Night", acrylic on masonite,
by Toni Grote

         Like most of us, I have spent a significant amount of time concerned about my safety and security, but sometimes it comes to me with clarity that this infinite and friendly universe has me in its very good hands. The truth is that I am not a separate, solitary person, but an essential and sheltered part of a single everlasting force, sometimes called God, the Tao, or just the Universe – a force that is always doing what is absolutely perfect for itself. If I close my eyes, I can see my life as a waft in a wind that never started and will never stop, or a wave in an endless ocean. How can this waft or this wave possibly be harmed? They can change, certainly – every atom in this universe is constantly swirling and transforming – but instead of fearing these changes, I should try to appreciate them. This astonishing universe takes good care of uncountable atoms and cells and particles, forever and ever, and it will take good care of that part of itself currently called “me”. Trust it, Ham.

SOFT AND STRONG

A person could be soft and strong, 

sort of like the sparrows that feed at feeders 

beside windows, their small bodies poised 

in strength and ease. You could sit beside a sorrow, 

and sit straight and resilient, saying to the sorrow 

that you are the supervisor, not it, and you 

take instructions from the sun and the stars, 

not from sorrow. You could get nourishment 

from your sorrow, sitting bravely beside it 

and softly snacking on the wisdom 

that waits inside this feeder 

that something has hung beside your life.    

COMFORTABLE WORDS

    In my reading this morning, I came across the phrase “comfortable words” (see below), and I wondered if I should pay more attention to those kinds of words in the future. The word “comfort” derives from the Latin word for “strength”, suggesting that strong words, those that stand up and speak sincerely and clearly, can also be the most comfortable ones. We say something is comfortable when it’s soothing and restful, and perhaps strong, straightforward, stalwart words, whether written or spoken, can bring some of that kind of comfort to us. After all, sometimes just being in the presence of wholesome strength can cause us to rest in reassurance, knowing that not much can harm us with so much forthright spirit close by. Words that do their work with honesty and force can reassure us, settle us down, and send us toward some faith that this world can be considerably more comfortable than painful.  

“. . .when he spake and cheered his Table Round

  With [. . .] comfortable words.”

      -- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “The Idylls of the King”

PRESENCE

"Presence", oil, by Kristin Grevich

     Perhaps all of us know people who seem to shine with what we might call “presence”. These are people who seem thoroughly present, wherever they might be. When you’re with them, they give the gift of being completely with you, entirely in attendance, wholly here right now. In a strange sort of way, the presence of these people can create a sense in us of expansiveness, extensiveness, almost boundlessness, as though when they enter a room the walls seem to dissolve and an uncommon kind of freedom is felt. They are not only present with us, but completely content, satisfied, and pleased to be right where they are, which sometimes makes us feel, for perhaps a few moments, something similar, something satisfying and reassuring and empowering.