Sunday Muse

"In every walk with nature, one receives far more than he seeks."
~ John Muir

Sunday Muse

"...thinking of driving again the gravel roads of America at thirty-five miles per hour in order to see the ditches and gulleys, the birds in the fields, the mountains and rivers, the skies that hold our 10,000 generations of mothers in the clouds waiting for us to fall back into their arms again."
from "Cold Wind" by Jim Harrison

Sunday Muse ~ Happy Winter Solstice

If you have seen the snow
under the lamppost
piled up like a white beaver hat on the picnic table
or somewhere slowly falling
into the brook
to be swallowed by water,
then you have seen beauty
and know it for its transience.
And if you have gone out in the snow
for only the pleasure
of walking barely protected
from the galaxies,
the flakes settling on your parka
like the dust from just-born stars,
the cold waking you
as if from long sleeping,
then you can understand
how, more often than not,
truth is found in silence,
how the natural world comes to you
if you go out to meet it,
its icy ditches filled with dead weeds,
its vacant birdhouses, and dens
full of the sleeping.
But this is the slowed-down season
held fast by darkness
and if no one comes to keep you company
then keep watch over your own solitude.
In that stillness, you will learn
with your whole body
the significance of cold
and the night,
which is otherwise always eluding you.

"Winter Grace' by Patricia Fargnoli

Sunday Muse

"Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapory air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,
And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee
Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
And man delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air."
-   William Cullen Bryant, Autum  

Sunday Muse

The summer ends, and it is time
To face another way. Our theme
Reversed, we harvest the last row
To store against the cold, undo
The garden that will be undone.
We grieve under the weakened sun
To see all earth's green fountains dried,
And fallen all the works of light.
You do not speak, and I regret
This downfall of the good we sought
As though the fault were mine. I bring
The plow to turn the shattering
Leaves and bent stems into the dark,
From which they may return. At work,
I see you leaving our bright land,
The last cut flowers in your hand.

~ "The Summer Ends" by Wendell Berry

Sunday Muse

"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep."
~ Rumi

Sunday Muse

Gradually along the range
All things exchange their light
For darkness.

Single oaks
On hills that burned with gold
Merge now in shadow,

And hawks sail out
Over the valley,
Its air like a mirror

Filling with night,
That takes our images
And does not return them,

Just as the pines
Blot out our voices,
And even the stones at our feet

Fade from sight.
Now only the stars
Have eyes,

And around us sounds
Of things we cannot see
Begin to rise:

The owl's single note,
And the coyote's cry.

"Night in the Mountains" by Heather Allen

Sunday Muse

Just as we lose hope
she ambles in,
a late guest
dragging her hem
of wildflowers,
her torn
veil of mist,
 of light rain
blowing
her dandelion
breath
in our ears;
and we forgive her,
turning from
chilly winter
ways,
we throw off
our faithful
sweaters
and open
our arms.

"Spring" by Linda Pastan

Happy Easter

"O primavera! Gioventit dell' anno."

The first warm buds that break their covers,
   The first young twigs that burst in green,
The first blade that the sun discovers,
   Starting the loosened earth between.

The pale soft sky, so clear and tender,
   With little clouds that break and fly;
The crocus, earliest pretender
   To the low breezes passing by;

The chirp and twitter of brown builders,
   A couple in a tree, at least;
The watchful wisdom of the elders
   For callow younglings in the nest;

The flush of branches with fair blossoms,
   The deepening of the faint green boughs,
As leaf by leaf the crown grows fuller
   That binds the young Spring's rosy brows;

New promise every day of sweetness,
   The next bright dawn is sure to bring;
Slow breaking into green completeness,
   Fresh rapture of the early Spring!

"Spring Song" by Edith Wharton

Sunday Muse

"Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world,
for I would ride with you upon the wind 
and dance upon the mountains like a flame!"
~ William Butler Yeats

Sunday Muse

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iness

 

l(a leaf falls)oneliness by e. e. cummings

Sunday Muse

"Angels are visible to those who accept the light
 and break the pact made with darkness."
"The Valkyries" ~ Paul Coehlo

Sunday Muse

"Digging"

Seamus Heaney 

April 13, 1939 - August 30, 2013

rest in peace

Sunday Muse

"Certain thoughts are prayers.  There are moments when, whatever be the attitude of the body, the soul is on its knees."  ~ Victor Hugo

Sunday Muse

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver 

Sunday Muse

Sometimes we need the fog to remind ourselves

that all of life is not black and white.

~ Jonathan Lockwood Huie

 

Sunday Muse

Let the end of all bathtubs
be this putting out to pasture
of four Victorian bowlegs
anchored in grasses.

Let all longnecked browsers
come drink from the shallows
while faucets grow rusty
and porcelain yellows.

Where once our nude forebears
soaped up in this vessel
come, cows, and come, horses.
Bring burdock and thistle,

come slaver the scum of
timothy and clover
on the cast-iron lip that
our grandsires climbed over

and let there be always
green water for sipping
that muzzles may enter thoughtful
and rise dripping.

~ Watering Trough by Maxine Kumin



 

Sunday Muse

Alas, that June should come when thou didst go;
I think you passed each other on the way;
And seeing thee, the Summer loved thee so
That all her loveliness she gave away;
Her rare perfumes, in hawthorn boughs distilled,
Blushing, she in thy sweeter bosom left,
Thine arms with all her virgin roses filled,
Yet felt herself the richer for thy theft;
Beggared herself of morning for thine eyes,
Hung on the lips of every bird the tune,
Breathed on thy cheek her soft vermilion dyes,
And in thee set the singing heart of June.
And so, not only do I mourn thy flight,
But Summer comes despoiled of her delight.

~ Sonnet by Willa Cather

Sunday Muse

"True hope is swift and flies with swallows wings..."
~ Richard III, Act V, Scene II, William Shakespeare

Sunday Muse

"The mountain remains unmoved by its seeming defeat by the mists."

~ Robert Penn Warren