our breath mingles
creating tiny snowflakes
that rise in the north wind
delicate ice crystals
float with sparks
from the solstice fire
bright little boats
on a celestial sea
rising embers sailing
into the deep blue ocean of stars
sparkling bright
in the first winter night
*** An poem written years ago shared for the Solstice and the Third Thursday of Advent 2023
in this season
of bare trees and sepia toned landscape
when the world has gone mad
I can not help
but find beauty in these last days
each sun rise, a gift
uncommon joy found in the light falling
on walls of faded pear and aquamarine
the bone structure of time
etched across the garden
the grace of winter in its quiet reflection
the freedom
of loosing all constraints and ties
to whatever went before
until I am left
boundless, evergreen
*** a poem written a few years ago, shared for the Third Wednesday of Advent 2023
“My hunch is that joy, emerging from our common sorrow – which does not necessarily mean we have the same sorrows, but that we, in common, sorrow – might draw us together.” Ross Gay
blossoming joy
I don't know what it means to be so happy
when all about me says
it is a time
of grief and horror
Of which I have felt my share
But I feel no guilt
just gratitude
for this warm winter's day
and the blossoming
of deep joy
*** a re-telling of an older poem for the Third Sunday of Advent 2023
finding peace
hard won, oft searched for
in hiding places and country roads
once found
its heft is light
but all encompassing
I resist calls to anything other
than this calm
closing the open gate,
salting threshold,
anointing the lintel,
smudging the perimeter,
I steadfastly tend to the lyghte.
*** the re-telling of an older poem for the second Thursday of Advent 2023
Look inward
and find your place in the world.
Remember, peace resides there.
Sow seeds of peace
and leave knowing
the harvest will be bountiful.
Wind spills across the morning garden
bringing a scent of ice
and sun.
Declaring a truce with the world,
I reap peace.
**a re-telling of an older poem for the second Tuesday of Advent 2023
Paper Cranes
The path folds into itself,
an origami of leaf mold and gravel.
Its edges drift into stiff hedges of
deep dried grass,
shifting ever so slightly in the spring breeze-
fluttering like paper,
paper cranes
that fold their wings
and unfurl to fly.
Someone once folded a thousand cranes,
a symbol of peace or redemption or grace,
I forget which.
These cranes took flight
and flew with ibis and stork,
heron and egret,
until the fragile paper wings drifted slowly,
silently
into the flame,
consumed.
All that was left
was an origami of ash
for me to shovel into the garden
and work into the soil
to feed the roots
and nourish our souls,
with peace or redemption
or grace.
*** A poem written in 2015 for Hiroshima Day of Remembrance
I rise to the chorus of small birds
twittering to the rising sun and
sounds of household, husband filling
the carafe to heat water for our tea
our small dogs insistence on leaping
from pillow to lap, settling into warmth
near the fire as flames blaze to heat
the night cooled cottage
an ascending from darkness to light
into hope for the new day
First Monday of Advent 2023
"The Indo-European root of the word “hope” is the same root from which the word “curve” (to bend) comes from. Therefore, the root of the word “hope” gives us the connotation of a change in direction; going in a different way.
The Hebrew and Greek equivalent of our English word “hope” has the meaning of a strong and confident expectation."
-From Hope International
just around the bend
a vista of such beauty
many rocky paths climbed
in darkest nights
to find a place and time
much sought after
I have confidence
I will see it again
The Course of Our Seasons 