almost a new year

fairly recently i was up in an airplane and again, when looking out,

i realized, and remembered just how small i really am. a dot on the

planet. as this great river snaked its way through

i thought so do i, wondering what/who/where/when/how i might touch, where i might be called.

with the end of 2010 coming around the curvy bend and a new year calling me to listen i want to say how important it is for me to pay attention to the still quiet voice that lives within. it is often difficult to silence the chatter that goes on within the head, the ears, the heart and to drop down into knowing and believing that all is connected in such a vast and beautiful way, yet i want to offer this to myself, and hope the same of all who are indeed connected; which is every one of us. it is a blessing to share. it is an honor to know it. xo

april showers..oh yes, we all know the words..and they seem to be coming true each moment.

it's almost as if i can hear the world expanding and opening. giving birth again and again.

birth and death.

the past few weeks here at my house we have felt and honored the deaths of two dear ones.

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springtime

springtime is everywhere.

there are fields of western redbud, lupine, and poppies.

forests of trillium and damp moss.

ferns uncurling.

two vultures picking at rib bones.

the smell of low fires and new hope,

and still there is the sorrow of death.

and the way the breath catches on snag within that hurts,

and a wish can not make it go away.

for now my silver has turned to gold

and neither, nor none of this is as precious as it once was.

if you dig a hole this is what you find.

if you bury something in that hole it can just about break your heart.

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the above are california images.

here in vermont, what i witness swelling are lilacs and daffodils and my own heart.

xo

own or rent?
buy or borrow?
have or not?

it's the almost blank wall that i choose to sit looking at.

after all these years of acquiring and collecting,
it's the small yellow wall in the kitchen
that seems to hold an answer.

you tell me your dream,
how you tried to carry the heavy sweetness back,
as if it could be bottled,
as if it could be returned,
like the plate the pie came on.

from now on i want to, each day,
give something away,
pass it on. let it go.
i think of the things i do miss,
a few i could hold in my hands.
the others as invisible as the air i pull through my nose,
as abundant as the snowflakes
that are falling from the silver sky.