she sat down under the pines
and watched the crows dance in the field
Under Pines
Tag Archives: life
Haunted
sometimes in the middle of the day,
your words haunt me
and i am suddenly paralyzed by grief
Every Sorrow
“…I’ve discovered over the years that the simplist explanation is almost always the right one; and that hunger of one kind or another–desire, by another name– is the source of almost every sorrow.”
From the book, The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud
These things lately
glass orbs in the sun
Moonshadow by Cat Stevens
books about artists
long afternoon walks
red and green leaves
lunch with old friends and new friends
lost feathers
beautiful weeds
fog in the morning and
sensual rains in the night
Hope
the day awakens
and with it–
hopefulness
Both
sometimes tears,
sometimes laughter,
and sometimes
both
A Smell
i picked the pine cones and carried the smell on my hands the rest of the day
and it reminded me of that time when we were young and we played by the swings
where your grandfather killed the big snake and my grandmother made us lunch,
we ate our lunch by the pines behind my house and i could taste the smell of those trees on my toast and carried it with me through that day, through my life and into today, 40 eternal years later
Wild
she had become wild and overgrown,
like creeping ivy,
and feral night creatures–
like neglected velvet roses
and fierce northern winds
Your Vision
Your path will take unforseen turns. Keep walking, use a stick for support and make some noise in the forest. You will trip and become tired, but remember to look around at the velvet moss, the tiny mushrooms, the hidden snake, the baby chipmunk. Not everyone takes the same path, and not everyone walks at the same pace.
Honor your own journey and keep in time with your vision.
An Assessment
“What do you do?” he asked with wide-eyed anticipation.
“Well, I straighten the living room every morning and clean the kitchen several times a day. I take the puppy out every hour, which is no small task because there are 32 steps per trip. I go to the grocery store and contemplate my purchases of milk, peach iced tea, pop tarts and cereal, hoping it reflects nothing upon my mothering skills. I take pictures of sunsets and pine cones and random leaves in the rain. I laugh with my teen-aged children and find myself wanting to shellac them in place to this very time when I know where they sleep and they’re warm in my house. I write little snippets of thoughts that I don’t call poetry but sometimes can be seen as poetic. Every evening, I listen for the train and it brings me comfort. I share jokes with my husband and miss him when he’s working away from us. Sometimes I make scrambled eggs for breakfast. Occasionally I draw on rocks or cut butterflies out of white paper. I drive with the windows down and Tom Petty playing in the background. I drink coffee with generous amounts of sugar and milk. I clean the bathrooms and don’t particularly enjoy that task although I don’t mind running the vacuum as much as I mind doing the laundry.”
Glassy-eyed and frightened, he walked away.
If I’d have said, “graphic designer” would that have told him what he wanted to know?
spanishwoods 