Monday, March 23, 2020

The young possum foraging
outside my office window
seems unconcerned by my presence—
after all, I'm the one who's trapped.
I snack on almonds, watch
it nibble whatever it can find,
and though I am inclined to share,
I know that opening the window
will change the world.
Karen Head

Thursday, March 12, 2020

"Poetry calls us to pause. There is so much we overlook,
while the abundance around us continues to shimmer
on its own."
(Naomi Shihab Nye)

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

The Return 
We are heartened
when each year
the barn swallows

They find their old nests,
teach their young to fly,
lining up on the barn roof
for their first flight.

They remind us,
for now, some rituals
of this good earth
Jonathan Greene, "The Return," from Afloat, (Broadstone Books, 2019)
The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

“The Snow Man” by Wallace Stevens. Public domain.