The birds seemed as happy as we were
for the return to the land,
for the spring
or its precursor,
the time of prodigious effort
we can now set to,
the time for making home
and for noticing
that it’s here.
©Wendy Mulhern
February 24, 2020
What I call me
has gotten used to
the act of work,
the fact of traveling
My breath has learned
how to continue steady,
my arms and hands
have learned to move ready,
my mind is quiet in the awe
of what is being shown
step by step, goal by goal,
poem by poem.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 12, 2019
The prospect of departure
is like wood settling in to the fire,
causing a quickening of flames —
our actions burn warmer
though there is less fuel
to work with
We will do what we can
and leave when we have to.
There is power and comfort
in closure.
We’ll savor the silence
before the next act.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 21, 2019
At the end of our day,
size of remaining tasks notwithstanding,
we have to acknowledge
what was accomplished —
two vehicles saved
from the ravages of mice
(at least for now)
and some flickers of clarity
rising up in the firelight
as we considered
our past and future course
Now I can hold you
in the love that offers
a bed of acceptance
like coals hold the wood in the fire —
whatever you may think of your life
can be transmuted, offered up as warmth,
rendered translucent in the service
of that which glorifies us all.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 19, 2019
There is a place for tears,
there is a place
for turning around three times
and lying down,
there is a place for curling up
and waiting for the inner heave to stop
The comfort rises up around me
like soft flames from the coals,
cradles me, reminds me
this warmth is always at hand
Maybe we’re allowed
to have a soft day sometimes,
to go back to bed, for a while,
in the afternoon,
to do about as much work
as the sun did today,
showing up for about an hour
between fog and day’s end.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 6, 2019
Long we have imagined being done
(not even comprehensively, but with a phase)
Long we have imagined going home.
But there’s a truth about the process
we didn’t know to picture —
how we don’t go back the way we’ve come
We have been honed, we have been humbled,
and the things we’ve learned
are more about perspective points than anything —
not that we know more things
but that our lenses
have somehow shifted everything we see
And being done — I now don’t know
what that would look like,
and going home — I’m not sure
where that is,
but in the learning and the leaning
I can say
I’m more myself than I have ever been.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 4, 2019
The softness of the day at three
is a fine gift — softness of wind,
warmth from the sun,
a softening of urgency
to get things done,
a sense of progress,
a sense that our release,
while not in sight as yet,
could come some day.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 3, 2019
You: What are you thinking about?
Me: Same thing I always —
You: Oh, God …
Me: That’s exactly right
You: And me, I’m thinking about
what I always think about, too …
(a pause, we snuggle in)
…the house — how to build it,
what to do next
The wonder of it is
that we can come together,
or almost — good enough
to keep the project going
day after week after year.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 17, 2019
Subtly, the palette changes —
bracken ferns to brown,
grasses back to green,
gold and orange along the river,
water vapor’s silver sheen
We raced the rain
all day yesterday
while the sun slowly made room
for more and more clouds
and the cat hunted happy in the field
and the needed tasks got done
And this morning,
rain holding off for just a while,
you added final touches
so now we can look up
and see the colors
and watch the rain.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 16, 2019
The weather came through fast —
one moment, charming warm sun,
the next, a rolling dark cloud,
a strong cold wind,
rain visible across the valley,
trees on the east hill
making a rushing sound
The task we were doing
in peaceful progression
became urgent, rain rolling down
the roof we were trying to cover,
ladders getting muddy, footing slippery
I rode the rush of excitement
through the storm,
not minding the wet and the cold
or the need to persist with our task until done,
since we’d be there to see and to feel it.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 3, 2019