It may look like I’m weeding
but I’m harvesting — these dandelions
are destined for great things,
performing their wizardry
on crusty ground,
pushing through,
making room for more life
The sun was here briefly,
later the cold wind came through,
but didn’t deter us from harvesting
sweetness and strength
from the field of our connection
and the truth that is with us
wherever we go.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 23, 2019
Everywhere we stopped,
I wanted to eavesdrop,
wanted to throw myself
into the current
of other people’s lives,
wanted to feel
whatever it was they were feeling,
though I never really could quite hear
Out on the land
I am alive to the sounds
of geese and ravens,
turkeys, owls, the cycles
of water, of the seasons,
and the tutelage of Spirit,
my mind cleaving eager
to what it teaches
The world of people
drifts so far away,
I forget the goals, the games …
and though I don’t know
if I’ll ever play again,
I still, it seems, am drawn to watch.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 21, 2019
Here we are
playing double dutch
with the rain,
looking for a place to jump in,
feeling confounded
though not yet wet
Eventually we’ll guess
there’s nothing to be gained
by waiting inside
delaying our move —
wetness is, after all,
temporary, as also,
though less obviously,
is mud.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 10, 2019
My hands still smell like loam
from digging with gloves in the dirt
which came in through the fingertips
settling under my nails —
I’ve scrubbed my hands
and the remaining scent
may be more memory than anything
The best part was the teamwork —
the two of us trying to move the black locust,
all stump and spine, rooted tight against the wall.
The choosing of tools, the digging, the prying,
the leverage applied, the clipping, the sawing
till it finally came free, and you settled it in
while I put tools away
and robins sang bright
as evening nestled down.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 9, 2019
Today, it’s good
to greet the sun
(the unpredicted sun)
sleepy, to the sound of turkeys
and the sight of steam
from the outdoor shower
turning into a cloud as it rises
against the blue,
to feel a patch of sun between the trees
squarely on my shoulder
Today it’s good to feel
the fountain of my source,
a light, a fire, a radiance,
deep within, and deep below
all the surface fixtures of the day,
today it’s good to notice all of this.
Today, it’s good.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 31, 2019
The day is gray
and mud has had its way
with my boots, my gloves,
my clothes
The work continues
but I have bowed out of it,
cowed by cold dampness
and no given tasks for me
I have retreated to the cabin,
I’ve lit a fire
though it is not a time
for meals, or gearing up
or winding down
I will let myself be low
just for a spell,
just for long enough
to change my mind.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 5, 2019
I learned today
that ice can look like sand
at least to me,
but that it won’t hold me up,
and winter water
up to the knee
is not that bad
And sometimes a surprise step
into the drink
can serve to reset everything,
redeeming a dragged down day,
making me, and those I walk with,
feel holy.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 3, 2019
It was a time of
birds and boats
and floating mountains
and, within the now established fact
of winter, a softening,
brought on by clouds
that blanketed the night
and now let sun across
the distant banks and peaks,
colors and coldness both muted,
a space for gentleness to rise
and be felt
by everything that shared this day.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 8, 2018
We were there to harvest
the gold of the day,
exhilaration
when sun has overcome
the last night’s rain
Damp leaves quivered
with surface evaporation,
breath-catch of being here,
the moment’s radiant warmth
Later the clouds came across
and maybe there was more rain
(later we were inside, where noticing
is not strictly required).
In memory, and in the camera’s capture,
the morning’s gold will stay.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 24, 2018
We have come so far
along this haphazard path,
our footsteps not following
what we thought held our gaze,
our gaze, it turns out, being
too distracted and unfocused
to draw us to our hoped-for destinations
We will take the train —
its paths are laid down,
we don’t need to determine every step.
We’ll arrive where it takes us,
and if our lives feel unmoored, uprooted,
we won’t notice that so much
as long as we are moving.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 16, 2018