On the land and for a time has come a dusting of snow and freezing cold. Winter sun scratches at the horizon in low light - late to come, early to leave. I plod about the house and yard to find the things that must be done - daily chores and mundane tasks, this to fix and that for later leave. The end of the year, beginning of waiting for daffodils and first leaves. But what I will miss if only for these I wait while all around burgeoning life seethes? Inside even my old self as upon the muddy ground does come some new stirring that, if I sleep too long, will likely be gone before spring awakes. ______________________________________________________________ Portland, Oregon - December 27, 2021
Waiting
Darkness. Silence. Waiting.
When you see darkness and hear silence you know that Advent has come. Look around. Sit still. Speak not. Wait for what is coming. Wind in the trees. Dog bark. Traffic hum. A human cry, far away. This is Advent. This is the season. It is dark out there, perilous chill. We light our candles, consult holy books to little avail. They do not know our paths, what ways we were set upon when we were born. There are choices we still can make, must make for the good of us all. Only this, to walk on the dark paths, to listen but not hear a call. Our words are meaningless now, our thoughts like clouds passing away. Let us wait to see what, or who, will come. ____________________________________________________ Portland, Oregon - Eve of the Feast of St. Nicholas. December 5, 2021 Of all the liturgical seasons set by the Christian faith traditions, Advent is the most meaningful to me. The watchwords of the season are three: Darkness, silence, and waiting. But, beware! Advent is a pseudo-preparation for Christmas. We cannot wait for an event that happened long ago. We can only wait for what is still to come and woe to anyone who thinks they know what that might be! Therefore, no matter what one thinks of the Christian traditions, one cannot doubt that darkness, silence, and waiting are conditions of human life that must be taken seriously.
Viral Morning
Morning rises in day speckles
multifaceted green hue and blend.
Trees tall of evergreen break
the blue sky into silhouettes –
pointy pine needle etchings
carved into patches of bright sky
still cold from the chill night.
All in a spring morning –
bird call, little girl scream
delighted bike riding fast
leaving parents behind on the road.
Verdant vegetative bursting, virus
spreading, water seeping down
to seas and shadowy depths.
Morning and the green filtered
sky cannot hold the silence –
waiting and fear falling as rain.
I hold these in my own green life
through this lovely and cold
viral spring morning.
Portland, Oregon – May 6, 2020
Something Is Not Coming
Something is not coming
from out of the thin curving horizon.
I cannot wait for what may be
as if the future was a being with power
rather than an illusion, a chimaera of time.
Hours and days, years I’ve lost seeking
a phantom I thought might be
sought in the night, could have become real
imagined would be if I were another.
I have lost myself in a tyranny
of expectations, plans, dreams
as a child wishing for unicorns and faeries.
It, whatever it is for me,
is not out there or on it’s way
from a never-never land before me
as if my steps would take me there.
What I wait for is in my loins
my essential self as a pure oil –
balm and nectar – heart, soul, salve, healing.
My projects and plans
my precious hopes and dreams
vanish before me again and again
while in me is stirred the cauldron of life.
Hope has no foot in tomorrow
but walks the path of each moment
as the shadow of my steps
on the path below my feet
on this day and in this season
as the leaves begin to fall
the wind bristles the hair on my arms
the light slants low over the horizon
and I swallow an evening star
as it lowers gently before my eyes.
Portland, Oregon – September 4, 2018
Waiting
With time comes waiting.
Without waiting comes noise
work, play, forgetting, anxiety.
Silence – the voice of waiting –
stills bones and heart beat
calms the near horizon
quiets fear, stems it’s tide.
Wait.
What will be
will come
in time.
Portland, Oregon – June 14, 2017
In Cascadia 