Friday, March 23, 2007

Sprung break

Not enough sun has my rhythm sprung.
I'm in pursuit of rest and restoration,
heat and humidity, waves and warmth,
beaches and baseball, saltwater sailing,
lizards and live oaks, alligators, egrets,
manatees and mangroves, pelicans and palms.

Back in a week.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

“A Pretty Song”

It often takes me a while to get through a book because I tend to read a half dozen or so of them at a time. So I’ve been savoring my way through Mary Oliver’s collection of poems, Thirst. I keep returning to these compelling lines that may speak far beyond their already intense surface meaning. Clearly, this is a poem that expresses grief over the loss of a long-time partner. But, bearing in mind Oliver’s mission of “loving the world” (Messenger), as I read these lines I keep considering both to what extent they work for the many kinds of loves of which a life is made over time, and the centrality of love to human existence.

“From the complications of loving you
I think there is no end or return.
No answer, no coming out of it.

Which is the only way to love, isn’t it?
This isn’t a playground, this is
earth, our heaven, for a while.”

— from Mary Oliver’s A Pretty Song in Thirst

Thursday, March 15, 2007


The sunlight is brilliant and warm, but there's no sense of that inside. I am drenched by waves of incoming requests, concentrating and working hard to keep the boat afloat. Outside, the house painters have darkened all the windows with masking paper and plastic film, further dimmed by overspray of dark red trim paint. From in here, it's as if the unnaturally opaque and crepuscular air were lit by a bank of glowing coals. Combined with the intense work and the rising temperatures of a sudden spring, it's feeling a little underworldly in here. I closed my eyes for just a moment to take a deep breath. To my surprise, I heard the sound of wind through aspen trees and the gurgle of a nearby creek. Opening my eyes again, I recognized it's only the swaths of that featherweight plastic, worked loose and teased by the gusting wind, and the toilet down the hall that someone left running. But, for just a moment, I was somewhere else.

Life has me quite busy, so posting and commenting may be slightly erratic for a bit. Bear with me while my focus is temporarily drawn elsewhere.

Click on the photo for a larger version.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Familiar tracings







The latest edition of Ringing of the Bards: First Things First poetry carnival is up at Tiel's blog.

Tuesday, March 06, 2007


the past tense was easy
so was the future tense
the present tense was most demanding

the sun rose
you woke under the covers

each moment
more real than a solitary rosary bead