An osprey,
two blue herons flying,
a high hemlock perch
A swooping swallow,
a reflective river,
duck with two babies
enclosed in green concentric circles
The discovery of new territory
in the old bounds of my body,
heretofore uncharted ground
in places in between the known landmarks
Morning clouds,
south breeze sounding wind chimes,
fresh coolness to the air,
working and waiting, and
stepping forward intrepidly
toward the receding edge of tomorrow.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 30, 2016
Let my heart be soft,
let it release constrictions,
let me trade in my judgments
for innocence
Let my breath be full,
let my soul feel its expansion,
let me trade in my regrets
for forgiveness
This is a time of freshness,
two nights’ thunderstorms
achieving crispness on the second morning,
the hot thickness, for now,
cleared from the day,
This is a time for clear eyes, too,
scratchy opinions
all washed away.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 24, 2016
My mouth has been full of thank yous.
Bright threads of them
trail through thought,
Images flit in memory
like a convergence of moths
The day’s events are over
and all their preparations
can now lie smooth
for the next day’s work to build on
In a while, all this excitement
can settle as well.
Tomorrow, of course,
will take care of itself.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 17, 2016
Vessel by Jennifer McCurdy, photo by Josh Liebowitz
In this time of
standing watch,
taking care,
making sure
the quiet order of things
can unfold, unperturbed,
there’s little space
to move things forward —
too many tiny tethers
to accomodate wild leaps
Instead, the measured calm
of giving the attention each thing needs
proceeds in small steps,
none of them remarkable,
none of them leading us forward,
but all of them together,
keeping us steady
in the place we are.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 10, 2016
Life, as it turns out,
is the only thing that matters.
We found out later
that we had gone through years halted,
an arm, perhaps, behind our backs,
some other essential element
not fully activated
We watched our thoughts scrambling
to make it right for ourselves,
to justify our failures or to vindicate,
to seek a truer path
or to decide that it’s too late,
to let the whole conglomerated
thing we’ve called our lives
keep tumbling along its haphazard course
to whatever inevitable end
the fall line has in store.
But the only thing that matters is Life.
Life that chirps above the traffic’s roar,
that unfolds in holy intricacy
beneath the ground,
that blesses odd moments with swift streaks of delight,
that rests us gently on the pillow of dreams
and rises in us, a constant consciousness,
the tenderness that takes us by surprise,
the love that keeps us opening our eyes.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 23, 2016
The fledgling crow stood on the bench
for a long time, its eyes blinking,
its claws crooked on the planks,
its tail feathers stubby.
I watched it for a long time,
until its final stubby flight
into the grass by the fence
I watched another one later
(or perhaps the same one)
balancing on too-thin branches
in the brush pile — tentative shifting,
weighing the give of the branch
against the thrust of take-off,
hopping to equally flimsy branches,
getting ready to try again
We are so very much like these crows,
almost or maybe able to fly,
blinking for a long time
in the uncertainty of the tasks at hand,
lovingly watched over all the while.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 9, 2016
Even thought is subdued
in the heat,
thought and movement,
and getting too upset about anything.
It’s not worth the risk
of heating up the blood,
not worth the agitated state of unrest
The evening breeze is kind,
the scent of privet and honeysuckle
float on it,
the smooth coolness
inviting rest.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 5, 2015
I love the way our yard is now
with the kiwi vine pushing through the artichoke,
heading up the cherry tree,
with the honeysuckle in full bloom
(rhodies now spent)
and the chickadees flitting back and forth
to their vociferous young
I am happy with the lush greenness
of all the weeds, and the upward insistence
of herbs gone to seed
and the young trees offering young fruits,
feeding us now with hope
I recognize it will be daunting
when we need to bring it all in line,
a task I’ll face next year, perhaps —
for now, for me, it’s fine.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 27, 2016
We move in the easy circles
of things we have practiced
without thinking about it,
rounds of companionship and conversation,
movement and sitting still and not talking,
held together in the matrix of the music
It wasn’t always like this,
but maybe now we have learned
enough of our home base,
enough of our center,
that after we disperse,
when we come back,
we’ll find this place again.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 18, 2016
The afternoon seems quiet.
the sun has slipped away without comment,
the predicted overcast
taking its place silently
The day’s sounds are muted
in the humidity before the cooling.
Birds still sing, and traffic passes,
dogs bark, kids shout
And then the trees begin their comment,
rustle of approaching weather,
and the volume rises.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 17, 2016