Tuesday, March 30, 2010

goddess #31

along alewife brook
water pours from sodden earth
at the pond 
trees that normally edge the shore
stand two feet deep in water
. . . and still it rains.
climate change
fact not fiction
the question
not can we stop or reverse it
but can we slow it and adapt
and avoid arriving on our own endangered species list?

Monday, March 22, 2010

goddess #30

leaden skies
cold rain
sheltering under the bridge
i remember Jim
awakening in his nest of blankets
as i pedaled past
sharing a wave and a smile
tentatively at first, later with ease.
until one day he was gone,
blankets, smiles, and all.

My bike path to work used to take me under a bridge across the muddy river. Most mornings Jim was there, just waking up as I passed. On fine days it seemed like the most beautiful place to live in Boston, but of course that was just me romanticizing -- i know that the reality of living without a home is harsher than I can even imagine. Jim and I slowly developed a routine of greeting over the course of a year or two, and then he was just gone. I think of him often and am grateful for our fleeting connection. Today I found this small tree, clinging to the stonework of the bridge -- another example of the tenacity of life.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

goddess #29

abandoned husks of war remain
on this point of land jutting into chesapeake bay
now a refuge for birds and butterflies
in need of rest on their journey
from north to south
and back again.

may all beings find refuge.

Goddess #29 sits quite close to this bunker, built during WWII it housed 16-inch guns, then was turned over to the air force and served as a radar installation until 1981. It is now a wildlife refuge, that according to the National Wildlife Service, "is considered one of the most important migratory bird concentration points along the East Coast." It seems that millions of migratory birds travel down along the East Coast and then stop here before they find favorable winds so that they can safely cross Chesapeake Bay. In September, I am told, Monarch butterflies pass through in such numbers that the trees appear to be blooming with orange flowers. Goddess #29 overlooks this marsh. Although it was raining when I was there, and few creatures were in view, it was wonderful to feel the peace of the marsh, and to see the crumbling cement bunkers in the process of transforming back into the natural landscape.

Monday, March 8, 2010

goddess #28


there's sacred beauty in the cypress grove . . 
raptors gliding through brilliant blue
their strident cries shattering the hush below.
thin shaggy trunks reach skyward with graceful limbs festooned in a rag-tag of gray-green wisps
and a sudden surprise of red maple wings.
below a multitude of greens and myriad textures -- now wet, now dry -- underfoot.
and cypress knees, evoking ancient forms and spirits
that words cannot begin to describe.




Monday, March 1, 2010

goddess #27


puffs of spring
orange and pink
bloom amidst the brown remain of winter

may we welcome
the passing seasons of the year
and the passing seasons of our lives.

Here in Florida, I am spending lots of time with my mom and her friends. She is in her mid-eighties and is the youngest of her pals . . . It is wonderful to see how full of life they all are . . . involved in all kinds of activities -- they are regulars at the symphony, chamber concerts, opera, ballet, Shakespeare and contemporary theater performances . . . they visit the art museums and festivals, work at the pottery studio, go to exercise class, political discussion groups, and yiddish classes. . .  they play bridge, poker, scrabble, and mah jong. With walkers, canes and other assistive devices they carry on, helping each other past barriers physical and mental . . . repeating themselves until understood when hearing aids fail . . . they are there for each other as they lose spouses, friends, and loved ones. . . I am moved to awe and inspired by their intrepid spirits . . . may we all age so gracefully among loving friends.