Snow gone conclusion

It was a reminder
that February is still winter,
and that our rising plans
need patience built into them,
and that nature’s gifts
require our attention:

What looked like moonlight at 3 AM
proved itself a carpet
and a sweet wet falling
of night time snow,
and displayed itself, come morning,
as early brightness, and an invitation
to go out, to take it in, to be directly under
geese, in constant commentary,
emerging low over the woods
and landing in the pond

And hearing blackbirds with their morning exaltations,
and seeing blue stretched out along the white
in what became shadows when the sun emerged

It became a snow gone conclusion,
as is often the case,
augmenting our gratitude
for our brief immersion.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 14, 2023

Trees from the nursery

Young trees, we have great hopes for you –
we’ll set your gangly roots down in our earth,
we’ll try to keep you safe
from what would gnaw at you,
we wish you each a life of robust growth

We hope your limbs will soar and branch,
and birds will rest upon them,
we hope your roots will travel far,
communing with your neighbors

May your blossoms nourish bees,
and may your leaves be splendid,
may your shade be sweet and broad
and child befriended,
may we tend you well enough that you, in turn,
will flourish in your tending of the earth.

©Wendy Mulhern
February 3, 2023

This afternoon

It was a time of sun and wind
and frog song,
and winter water on the land,
and color all the brighter
for the mostly muted season

Ravens overhead were unconcerned
who heard their family raucousness –
they, too, sent heart-lift,
joy of life and flight,
span of blue sky,
float of clouds,
rain-washed freshness of the day,
tokens of the hope that guides our way.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 8, 2023

Bears

I had a dream about
you playing with bears in the surf,
showing me a video afterwards,
the push of your hand
against the long wet fur,
a large black rock,
waves gliding in

It was affectionate
and so appropriate,
a thing to share,
a thing to be proud of you for,
salty and wet and unafraid,
riding your love like a wave.

©Wendy Mulhern
December 14, 2022

Smile time

In the smile time of the afternoon,
strands of spider silk gleam with sunshine,
they hang from fences, they catch the wind
and float off – I don’t know
if they have a purpose now,
except to be delightful

Deer stayed for about an hour
on the shadowed north side of the house
after the frost was gone,
on ground that never warmed –
they browsed, then sat, and moved on later –
I don’t know why they chose that spot

In the smile time of the afternoon,
the air relaxed, and let itself get warm
even out beyond the porch’s shelter,
and no one could resist
the quiet calm
the infinite provided
for that fleeting time.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 16, 2022

Invitation

When I come to the beach
and I take off my shoes
and the wind and the water
ask me to dance,
I can never refuse,
for the sound and the smell and the feel
of that last salt-tinged rush across the sand,
and the sheen, and the pattern of ripples,
push the ocean message up through my feet  –
all that vast chorus of power –
and I can’t help but fly.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 14, 2022

The dance of land and sky

The belly of cloud
against the contour of the land,
just enough space between to feel the closeness,
the constant slow adjusting of undulations,
a small view into blue distance

The dance of land and sky
goes on throughout the day,
continues through the night
and never pauses
except for the exquisite rests
where all is truly still,
which we, sometimes,
are also blessed to feel.

©Wendy Mulhern
November 8, 2022

Consent

Consent to joy –
don’t ask it to prove itself  –
consent to it
and you will see it rise
like wisps of morning fog,
you’ll see it
in a tree limb’s gesture,
you’ll feel it
like the sun across the hill,
bringing hope with it,
shedding light on purpose

Consent to joy –
it wants to shine in you,
it wants you,
all of you –
it wants you as you are.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 4, 2022

Tree Talk

Yesterday I walked around
and spoke to our little trees  –
I told them of my vision of a canopy
where they would touch limbs
and be a happy welcome
to so many living things.
I told them of my gratitude that they were there
and my anticipation of their coming grandeur

Later, when I came outside again,
I smiled, remembering our conversation,
which was part of how I knew
communication had gone both ways.

©Wendy Mulhern
October 2, 2022