Thank you.
For what?
Life.
What does it mean?
Must it mean?
Yes.
No.
What then?
Be.
Be what?
Be.
Is that all?
No.
What more?
Give thanks.
Waldport, Oregon – Thanksgiving day, November 22, 2018
Month: November 2018
Thanksgiving
On a table in front of me cut stems of lavender lie
that days before grew, rapt within a November sky.
Plait them into the wreaths of December
through branches of pine and cedar to remember
the fullness of spring in clear and washed lights
summer’s warmth in ripples of radiant sun bright
pulling from the lavender it’s sweet scent, lifted,
lingering in a fragrance lost, borne aloft
in wild winds and rain blown waves
breathing as the world on us this day.
Waldport, Oregon – Thanksgiving day, November 22, 2018
Sowing and Reaping
It is a time to plant, late autumn,
as the rain and the cold come on.
Roots, tender and young, find their way –
spaces among the stones
crevices in the clay.
Among young spring cedars
I first breathed the fresh air
began to grow into the welcoming earth.
My flower opened, my branches
stretched out to the brightening sky.
Spring will follow winter
revealing what lives, what is dying.
The thin and leafless young plants
may bear life in bright fruits –
birds in their branches,
wind in their leaves.
So may spring find me
replenished in the land
opening my arms to the cool breezes
my heart to the falling rains of spring.
Portland, Oregon – November 14, 2018
In Cascadia 