Finally will it not be enough, after much living, after much love, after much dying of those you have loved, to sit on the porch near sundown with your eyes simply open, watching the wind shape the clouds into the shapes of clouds? Even then you will remember this history of love, shaped in the shapes of flesh, everchanging as the clouds that pass, the blessed yearning of body for body, unending light. You will remember, watching the clouds, the future of love. – 1994, II (p. 177) (This Sunday series is inspired by Wendell Berry’s A Timbered Choir.) Continue reading A Timbered Choir | Fourth Sunday.
Another Sunday morning comes And I resume the standing Sabbath Of the woods, where the finest blooms Of time return, and where no path Is worn but wears its makers out At last, and disappears in leaves Of fallen seasons. The tracked rut Fills and levels; here nothing grieves In the risen season. Past life Lives in the living. Resurrection Is in the way each maple leaf Commemorates its kind, by connection Outreaching understanding. What rises Rises into comprehension And beyond. Even falling raises In praise of light. What is begun Is unfinished. And so the mind That comes to … Continue reading A Timbered Choir | Third Sunday.
Slowly, slowly, they return To the small woodland let alone: Great trees, outspreading and upright, Apostles of the living light. Patient as stars, they build in air Tier after tier a timbered choir, Stout beams upholding weightless grace Of song, a blessing on their place. They stand in waiting all around, Uprisings of their native ground, Downcomings of the distant light; They are the advent they await. Receiving sun and giving shade, Their life’s a benefaction made, And is a benediction said Over the living and the dead. In fall their brightened leaves, released, Fly down the wind, and we … Continue reading A Timbered Choir | Second Sunday.
A Timbered Choir is one of the two books of poetry I purchased while reading the last chapter of Barbara Brown Taylor’s wonderful An Altar in the World. It’s subtitled “The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997”. Most Sundays, my poetry is more likely to come from the Psalms, and I liked the idea of reading something contemporary. Even better if it’s focused on the outdoors and the peace and tranquility a quiet walk in the woods might provide. In his preface, Berry writes “These poems were written in silence, in solitude, mainly out of doors. A reader will like them best, I … Continue reading A Timbered Choir | First Sunday.
from this morning’s walk What Gorgeous Thing I do not know what gorgeous thing the bluebird keeps saying, his voice easing out of his throat, beak, body into the pink air of the early morning. I like it whatever it … Continue reading Poetry Sunday | What Gorgeous Thing.
entering the park from the “back gate”, holly chooses which way we go; today, she chose clockwise …it hit me hard as holly and I set off for the park this morning. this is one of our last walks there … Continue reading sunday in the park.
…it’s mostly been a good thing that this is my second year doing ali’s one little word class. I’m comfortable with the process and know that the end result will be more than worth the effort. but I wasn’t looking … Continue reading one little word. june.
…I fumbled through my mittens to create my 2011 top ten christmas playlist on my iphone. holly did get just a bit impatient. my fingers did get really really cold. and when I got home I asked sara to download one … Continue reading sunday in the park.
…the crisp air and clear blue sky were energizing. the little pops of red made me happy. but it was the sunshine that really made me smile. Continue reading sunday in the park.
…we walked two laps. holly chased and barked at squirrels while I noticed the grays and browns in the landscape (it took my mind off my very cold fingers). and then she posed for a photo. the perfect way to … Continue reading sunday in the park.