… but she still bloomed
OF THIS WET MORNING
Where air-silk flows like dreams
over the gray moiré
of this soft morning—
the wet leaves tipped with
light—everywhere flashing amid
the golden music of tiny songbirds
un-caging
through the perfect light
where no sorrow is allowed—
where the smallest flower
will blossom because you find it
and the gray silk days
will soften into evening
and the sky will ring with stars,
so bright you’ll praise them openly.
Thanks to Ron and Joyce for today's symphony of pictures and sound, still celebrating Tiny Moments of Joy. Wet morning—you got that right!—up here on the mountain I'm looking out at snowy gray and another day with the snowplow. Remember that photo of our deck I posted last week? Multiply it times four; we've seen about three feet of snow since then. Yesterday the power was out all day, too; we have a whole-house generator, so we were fine, but then the Internet/TV went out right after I posted Medusa... oy. They're back in operation today, though, and people are fumbling through the snow, continuing their daily lives—as are the other critters! Right now the jays and squirrels are lined up at their feeding station, ready for breakfast, so I'd better hurry with this.
—Joyce Odam
The car floats on the calm water.
Floating under the car is a raft.
Island to island they go like that—
in tranquil departure
and arrival—where roads await.
—Joyce Odam
The clearest way into the universe is
through a forest wilderness.
Follow the music of the trees.
Follow the music of the birds.
Follow the music of the
ever-deepening winds
that pull you deeper
into the waiting universe
of mind, and heart, and soul,
to where the promised love is.
(First published in Poets' Forum Magazine)
—Joyce Odam
where I am thin
sorrow pours through
I permit
the passage of sunlight
through these holes
I fold my darkness
like an old quilt of winter
all those squares
taken from old garments
I have been cold
all my life
now I am cured
of my unhappiness
I permit birds to sing
across my landscape
I open my trees for them
—Joyce Odam
(After reading Standing and Knowing
by William Stafford)
I take the stillness you offer
and praise the finding,
Seeing was never like this.
Hearing was never like this.
What has risen in me!
I cannot bear it.
__________________
THE LEAVES
—Joyce Odam
(after a Max Tharpe photo)
The leaves are too many;
the boy’s hands
are too small.
There is
a slowness around him
that he tries to fill.
But the leaves will not wait.
They say, Now! Now!
And they fall.
And the boys’ face
wears a gathering smile
for the leaves are
everywhere—just as he is,
with his swift evolution—
with the arrogance of
his joy and power, for he will
reach into the falling leaves
and catch them all.
__________________
Today's LittleNip:
HOW THERE IS JOY
—Joyce Odam
Religion has touched your throat.
—William Stafford
Spring now,
a bird interviews the morning:
an ordinary exchange, full of religion,
telling me, telling me…
how there is joy in its little life.
I listen to its hymn.
__________________
—Medusa
… Really can …
fly