St Hildegard might be pleased to hear
the women's clarion voices -
echoing from little car speakers
they sing St Hildegard's song
of a thousand years ago.

In the driveway
the engine's now off,
the radio still on.
Deer in the scrub,
the shadowy woods of juniper and oak,
are visible in the rear-view mirror
peering toward the ringing sounds -
poised in a narrow window
to an ancient time.

the hundredth scarf -

Approaching the completion of the hundredth scarf (for the second time since the first count was disputed), the yarn got all tangled and knotted and we wrestled a bit. I won in that I did finish the 100th scarf, and the yarn won in that the scarf was shorter than planned because I could only untangle the tangles so far. Thunder started crashing and the rain came down hard and steady as I cast off and tied the final knot. Who said knitting is a tame sport?

Anyway. Thanks for the beautiful rain -

Linda

chinaberry tree

Yesterday
i came upon a chinaberry tree,
its limbs still winter-bare
and arched to the sky.
On its lacework branches
perched a diversity of birds
murmuring and cooing and chirping -
doves in gray-brown
yellow finches
cedar waxwings
chickadees
They rose into the crisp air
wove in circles in and out
and returned
sinking in choir-like synchrony
onto the limbs,
the tree
accepting
the lightweight warmth of life and chatter
without complaint

Lent 2014

Lent began yesterday, and as usual, I'm a little late setting up a Lenten practice. Last year, I was later than this, but did manage to follow through for the rest of the season with my promise to play a harmonica every day. I'd never really played before, so it was a challenge, and interesting, and I hope I didn't hurt God's ears too much.

This year, it seems wise to go very, very small and quiet. I've made a promise to each day, adjust something I see that is awry. We're not talking stop a war or save the whales, because I don't really know how to do that, but only one very very small and doable thing. If I see the hose is out and placed in a way it might trip somebody, I will fix it right away. Or if there is a smudge on a public mirror, maybe I'll take out a hankie and polish it clean. Or a loose screw on a cabinet, I'll tighten it. I've forgotten to thank someone for a kindness? Call right away.

There have been Big fix-its over these last few years and the problem with Big fix-its is that the side effects can be rather problematic and hard to undo.

Also, I'm a terrible procrastinator. A Big project makes me nervous and I may never get to it, or never finish it. A little spontaneous fixit - just one a day - shouldn't create any problems and can gradually add up to something positive.

It seems to me this is how nature works at its gentlest. Rain here, sunshine there, pyracantha berries in the fall and through winter; dewberries and blueberries in spring and summer. Nothing all at once. Yard work for me is much more pleasant and successful if I walk through every day and adjust this or water the thirsty that, or pick up whatever seems a bit awry or in the way. No big sudden makeovers. One day, the yard is noticeably beautiful. So I'm going to do something like that in a more conscious way wherever the opportunity happens to come up. Just one a day.

Anyway. Thanks for reading.

An interior decorator knows that mirrors add light to a room. Mirrors can create an illusion that a small room is much larger than it appears.

I've thought about how wonderful it would be to take a class on the subject of light. All those issues about particle and wave, and how light can be bended or not. The subject about reflected light, gravity and light, black holes and light, the role of light in spirituality. The concept of God's light is present across time and many different religions. Halos and auras, and the ranges of light some insects and other creatures can see with their eyes but we humans cannot. Flowers have patterns in ultraviolet ranges of light that are like an invitation and map to hummingbirds and butterflies and bees.

But back to mirrors. Were there a physicist at my side this very moment, I'd ask, Do mirrors multiply light?

half the distance


playing the futility game
he's swimming to the finish
half the distance
every day
closer and closer
you're just a micro-inch away!
don't give up
(his eyes burn with salt)
you'll get there soon
closer and closer
you're halfway there!

the swimmer stops and floats...

rocking on the water
the waves beneath his back
a glorious sky
and a seagull above him
rocking on the wind

moving

everything is in the truck
dishes, slipper socks, shovel,
kids' works of art
and the rocking chairs
that swayed them as infants to sleep.
one day life is there
the next day, 400 miles over here
her things no longer in a natural state
not scattered on a work table
or stacked in cupboards
but padded in knotted bags
and crumpled boxes called miscellaneous

the morning scone and iced tea
of Yesterday's Café
is no longer in walking distance -
the world is a broken thought

then the knitting bag comes to view
the worn needles, the yellow yarn
the quarter-of-the-way-finished scarf
she knits and clicks and tugs the yarn
until the disconnected yesterday
is woven to this day,
the street in the world back there
is linked after all
to the street over here
in a zizag puzzle kind of way