Coals lie along each other in the fire
like we do at night,
glowing in each other’s heat
In counterpoint, the stratus clouds
now showing faint above the fog
lie along each other in rolling cold,
pink-tinged, here and there,
but no warmer for it
My fingers sting in morning outdoor chores –
they can’t get warm, lying along each other,
and must return to where the fire
is cooking breakfast,
and warming up the room.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 5, 2021
Trees plant magic in this place,
silent fog – owl punctuates,
bright moon glides in winter’s grace
through the night till morning
Winter’s beauty is revealed,
moon has so much light to wield,
leaves its silver in the field
in frosty early morning.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 28, 2020
One of the deer
regarded me through the window
for a long time
before it moved off
stepping stiffly through the light mud
and paused again, until another
came and nuzzled it
I think these were the twins of summer,
their mother coming up behind,
their coats now in the duller
shades of winter
to better blend with spent and battered stalks
Our walk through winter
is not unlike theirs,
our first time through this passage,
following signs we haven’t seen before
but which are clear enough –
foraging the prospects of the day.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 10, 2020
Though it’s hard to think
how we will make it through the winter,
it’s not so hard to deal with every day –
get up, perform the work at hand,
persevere through darkness
and through cold,
be graced, be blessed,
by glimpses of the light
This is how we’ll get through –
one day into the next,
grand plans dimly in the background,
committed to the way this moment plays.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 30, 2020
A soft day —
a day for the lessons of patience,
of things still waiting in winter rain,
the colors that shine
while the brighter ones are gone
I struggled through the morning’s low
to find these — the fruits
of going slow,
slow enough to mute
any opinions
and let the inner structures
take as long as they need to
to speak for themselves.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 6, 2020
From my window
I keep watching the snow —
it’s falling fast now,
large flakes swirling
forcefully from the south,
waves of it rushing
to catch up with itself,
covering footprints
as if it could fall fast enough
to outrun the coming rains
which will wash it all away
swift as it came
(I went out for long enough
to get my face wet
catching snowflakes in my mouth and hair —
I felt like I owed it
a longer homage
but I was also drawn
to the hearth fire.)
©Wendy Mulhern
January 15, 2020
Day dawns slow and pretty
in the sifting, wistful snow —
sky dark, snow light,
air held in windless stasis
These days, our sense of purpose
can easily drift, though we walk
in the cold air and the snow crunch
and ground ourselves, as best we can,
among the winter trees
We will hold hands and remind each other
our work is not in things
we can tick off lists,
and our gain, from each day,
is somewhere deeper than here,
something we may see again sometime.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 14, 2020
You wake and seek the life elixir
but the sap of trees is sleeping
and yours — perhaps it’s crusted over
in the stress of things you tell yourself
and the press of boxes you’ve taken in —
cold steel against the softness of your inner parts,
dull ache from where you try
to bend around them
But still there’s something —
the touch of air, or movement
against the blankets,
a feather breath of light, or of another,
and the warm liquid stirs, finds strength,
begins to run the lengths
up and down along the inside of your hopes —
you stretch yourself, you move,
you feel alive.
©Wendy Mulhern
January 13, 2020
We approach the year’s end
as uncelebrating
as every brown leaf
that blows along the ground,
as every squirrel that scuffles
among the leaves,
as every insect sleeping in its dried up stalk,
as all the crows that have gone home by now
It’s just one day into the next,
the rain, the fog, the winter light,
the stillness of the evening,
the morning’s breath
In other times, in other energies,
we made a mark here,
found some significance,
some grand design for change,
but this time round we’re flying low,
conserving strength,
hugging the curve of darkness
till the light returns.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 31, 2019
The day lasts much longer
outside the cabin,
mud and snow,
wind and radiant sun,
surprising green revealed by snowmelt,
fresh as spring
We have made this
little box of warmth
we can retreat to,
though it’s darker here
Night will bring moonlight
reflected on the last of the snow,
cold will draw all the heat
out from the floor
while we stay warm by snuggling
till morning comes again
with opportunities
for fire and sun.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 3, 2019