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
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
Maybe this is exactly
what I need — these waves
kicked over the sea wall,
these rain drops, hard as sand
blown against my eyelids,
this headwind beating me back
This could be what I need,
sun appearing at different parts
of the sea and sky, the mildness
of the gale-tossed air, my pedals,
even in low gear, offering resistance
This, so I can remember
I’m never asked to do it alone,
I’m only asked to lean in
and release.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 15, 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
The ice can go
as quickly as it came,
strong wind from the south
making waves, sending them
undulating under,
blowing shallow ripples over,
till it all washed ashore
to clink against the chunks of it
that still remained
I was surprised by the speed
that the spirited day
could change everything,
or at least this one thing
that seemed so solid,
holding up rocks
only an hour before.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 2, 2019
Days like this
bring out the memory
of hibernation. We take naps
on the couch, we wake up
to mammalian smells
and dark that fell
while we were sleeping
Our brief trips outside
have sweetened the warmth
of our dwelling,
the fire speaks to us
in familiar tongues.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 31, 2019
(on biking before the storm)
Storm was predicted
and after the bright morning
it started to roll in
It is said that a wind passed through the mountains,
breaking the rocks in pieces
but the power was not in the wind
nor was the consequence
and there was a vast stillness
in the recognition
that none of that violence
could do anything
in the face of Truth
The snow was more benign than rain —
not wet enough to bother,
hardly visible, but finding its way,
sometimes, into my mouth
as I rode and considered
what it must mean
that the wind and the earthquake and the fire,
though they did break the mountains,
couldn’t do anything.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 19, 2019
Week after sunny week
we raced against the rain,
and tasks opened out
like walking to the mountains
(the destination never getting closer)
We thought we were almost done
for weeks and weeks (well, I, for one,
had ceased believing), finding reserves
for yet another day of all-out grind
And when the rain finally came,
ptick ptick against the plastic,
oval drops appearing on the wood,
we still thought we weren’t ready,
but maybe we were
Or maybe we are really close,
and maybe the rain
(what fell was just a sprinkle)
if we can find the strength
will grant us one more day.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 23, 2018
The rain is gentle
and the early fall is gracious,
leaves on the ground and in the trees
fringing the streets with color
Artisan spiders weave raindrop gems
into their webs,
coziness settles in
with the darkened sky —
I may be solo
but I’m not alone.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 1, 2018
The deeply welcome smell of rain,
the fine mist bringing the smoke down,
a heartfelt breathing of relief
inhaled together by the whole town
We breathe in gratitude,
it feels so easy
to find it, and our brightness
when the air is clear —
for now it’s plenty
to keep us happy,
to catch the vision of our peace
and hold it here.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 23, 2018