goddess #47

a beaver dam dressed in green - 

strawberries, blueberries, moss, and ferns.

the lake three feet above where i stand with an eerie sense

of the built and the unbuilt.

earlier mineral hard land gave way to delicate new ferns, then rich forest humus . . 

then opened to this vista of water, lilies, and trees.

i am touched by tiny winged beings 

and remember how many of them there are compared to us -

some incredible number of times our biomass-

and i can only stop
and breathe it all in

as an inchworm makes her way across my page.

goddess #46

a pause

in this day that cycles between downpour and brilliance

the kind of day where there might be a rainbow

but isn't

only the wet lushness of green moss

mist rising from the earth

and a thousand other shades of green

gladdened by the arrival of sudden storms.

goddess #45

geese inhabit the parking lot this morning

"school's out for summer"

or at least the day after the 4th of july.

here at the edge of the marsh

i celebrate interdependence . . . 

bird calls reverberate in my heart,

sun warms my skin,

i breathe in as all around me exhales . . . 

a dragonfly flashes a brilliant wing as it lights

and small creatures everywhere go about their business

of keeping life going.

goddess #44

it's peaceful here at world's end

despite images of ships sailing over the edge into terra incognita

despite the echo of Eliot's "not with a bang but a whimper"

and the sudden vision of black, thick, gooey water snuffing out life.

an ancient oak patiently engulfs a stoney outcrop,

cries of children and running feet break the silence and fade away,

a myriad of tiny creature deconstruct a fallen branch, returning it to the earth.

all this is true

here at the end of the world

all this, and everything else in this moment -- in every moment.

goddess #43

another goddess lived near here

before the winter

before the rains and the ice and the snow

watching as the leaves turned brilliant, then fell

watching as branches became ink strokes brushed across cold winter sky,

watching as they softened into red, then green then burst into leaf.

and now, as spring turns into summer

she is gone

disappeared without a trace

only memories remain

and the sound of the water 

and birds conversing in the trees.

may we cherish what is and know it is forever transforming.

goddess #42

my path today

took me along one i walked quite often

some twenty years ago

in a different body

less saggy and wrinkled . . . 

but still i delight in the call of a robin

and the soft curve of a chipmunk disappearing under a log,

in ducks and ducklings gliding past yellow pond lillies.

alive with sound there is silence,

amidst constant movement, stillness

in this green leafy refuge.

 

may we all know we are gloriously alive in each and every moment

goddess #41

within sight of two windmills

birds sing

crickets chirp

and geese swim in stately rows.

no gobs of oil lurk in these glistening waters.

yet all the seas are one sea

and just last week the smoke of fires hundreds of miles north dimmed our skies.

oh, what will we do with our one precious world.

(with thanks to Mary Oliver)

may we know that the earth is our body, the waters our blood, and the air our very life.