The land speaks to me
in insect hum
and in the chirps of birds
along their daily paths
The air speaks to me
in the awakened breath
of all that is alive,
that rises eagerly
from the patient soil
and makes itself known
The day speaks to me
in the steady shine
of its curving arc
as large and subtle
as the earth’s turning
It says, you will find peace
as you learn to be peace,
it says, come with me
and I’ll show you.
©Wendy Mulhern
June 7, 2018
These flowers bloom
even if their stems bow down,
even if their faces hit the soil
and their petals
begin to commune
with the ground, with the turning
of everything back
to the place of starting over,
humble and dark and untroubled
by being anything with a name,
anything but ready
for the things
whose time has come to begin.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 30, 2018
And life asserts itself
unendingly, with patience and with joy,
in baby ducks and beavers
and herons on the wing
and that blackbird
with its exultant warble
in the late afternoon sun
that still reaches it, there in the treetop
Life continues, in dating and in weddings,
in friends confiding in each other,
in families, in passing generations
And we will, too,
affection being the most important thing —
we’ll hold it tenderly
and we will rise.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 25, 2018
Alone, I find myself drifting
in some odd space between hunger and tears.
The day is benign, and everything is breathing —
Clearly, it all knows that breath is gratitude,
and that it’s enough to fully engage with it,
taking in and releasing
in the dance of mutual blessing
It almost seems I could join with it.
It almost seems like something I could never leave,
something I have never left.
©Wendy Mulhern
May 7, 2018
Across this path the trees
have written of themselves,
their shadows elegant,
celebrating the gift of sunlight,
their gift to us who walk here
while the wind blows strong
and spring is still a promise
And promise is something
that we’re looking for,
along with any signs that clarify:
promises are not about the future,
promises express the grace of now.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 5, 2018
The work being done
there on the outside
is nothing for us to meddle with,
a business of wind blowing in all directions
and snow, various kinds,
coating trees, filling window screens,
piling high on roofs and railings,
driven up again, in powder form,
from the ground
We haven’t been out all day,
contenting ourselves with
food and naps and laundry,
thoughts and hopes,
wistful as snow,
blowing around inside.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 13, 2018
February begins to grant
the gift of longer days,
a swing of warmth along the arc
where the sun promenades
But be aware, it still is known as winter
and can dip there, sending down ice
from brilliant frigid stars,
freezing the pipes,
keeping us on guard.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 7, 2018
Soft jewels in the dark
as I gathered rosemary
for root vegetables
I touched their shine
to see if they were water
and felt their smooth leaf
Ah, they are oregano
glowing with perhaps a hint of moisture,
grown up among the fragrant brittle sprigs
catching little pools of moonlight
mute and low
celebrating what I’d hardly seen —
a gift of the moment
offered, on this year’s last night
to me.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 31, 2017
Close to the source
of heat and cold,
close to the source of being —
stars at night, pens that don’t write
as temperatures dip below freezing
_____________________
Whichever direction we stretch
we draw more surely
into the circle of purpose —
we are here to be warm,
we are here to share light
and we are here to be
the great testimony
to joy, and to the insistence of life
on burning ever true,
the flame that glows and grows
and won’t consume.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 15, 2017
We learn the worth of warmth —
its animal presence offered as free gift,
exchanged in the close steam of breath,
the animal scent part of the intimacy
We value the small suffusing
of heat from the low sun
pushing through the winter’s chill
(thawing paused for the task of
creating fog, moisture released from frost
drifting between trees)
The last glow offered
before the return to frigid
speaks of winter’s charm,
the color and stillness we can enjoy
when we are warm enough.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 12, 2017