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?

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.

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.

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.

 

  

 

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.