Water for Body, Water for Soul

At the end of summer, a simple gift of water. Blessings of refreshment to you!
 

Thinking of Trees

 As I finish compiling a collection of poems, I’ve had to let many things go, including some grand quotes about trees. Since I can’t squeeze all of these beautiful bits into the book, I thought I’d share some here:  

 

 

The one who’s lying on his back under tall trees

is also up there within them.

— Tomas Tranströmer, “Breathing Space, July”

 

The trees spoke of patience.

— Suzanne Simard, Finding the Mother Tree

 

[I]n the language of trees there’s no grammatical mood: questions, statements, or commands—it’s all song, stripped of anything like judgement, intention, or need. 

—Carl Phillips, Then the War and Selected Poems

 

Day brings what is going to be. Trees—

wherever they are—begin to stand. 

— William Stafford, “Letting You Go”

 

But blessed are those who trust in the Lord 

and have made the Lord their hope and confidence.

They are like trees planted along a riverbank, 

with roots that reach deep into the water. 

Such trees are not bothered by the heat 

or worried by long months of drought. 

Their leaves stay green, 

and they never stop producing fruit. 

—Jeremiah 17:7-8 NLT

From Seed to Sky

When we built this house, I sprinkled a packet of wildflower seeds beneath the front patio. The first spring, mostly zinnias grew up. Last year, mostly poppies. This year, all Brown-Eyed Susans and some wild green thing that went to seed and grew taller than I. 

 

I marvel at how what begins in darkness keeps reaching for the light. From seed to sky, may we keep reaching. 

 

Blessings of Light to you,

 

Anna

Sky Me

On finding an old photo of alpenglow

O clouds—

such brief beauty—

you sky me

with your glory. 

Ode to my Denim Shirt

Ode to my Denim Shirt        

 

Thirty-three years, you held up—

while my arms held high-school books,

tropical shells, college art supplies,

graduate thesis poems, European

train tickets, shovels and rakes, 

my first love and my last.

Thank you for waiting to tear—

until unwearable—until

I’d learned to hold each moment

with a sturdy gratitude.  

Laughing Earth

Letting Emerson (and the daffodils) say it best: “The earth laughs in flowers.” 

What a thing is spring

In this season of greening—

of already-but-not-yetness,

of muddy possibility,

of rainy enrichment,

of hungry wild ones

of pale tame ones—

I marvel at what comes up

seeking sun, seeking sky.

I give thanks for all

endings & beginnings. 

What a thing is spring.