Now through the white orchard my little dogromps, breaking the new snowwith wild feet.Running here running there, excited,hardly able to, stop, he leaps, he spinsuntil the white snow is written uponin large, exuberant letters,a long sentence, expressingthe pleasures of the body in this world.Oh, I could not have said it bettermyself.— Mary Oliver, The Storm…
Some fine day when we go walkingWe’ll take time for idle talkingSharing every feeling as we watch each other smileI’ll hold your hand you’ll hold my handWe’ll say things we never had plannedThen we’ll get to know each other in a little whileBut for now let me say I love youLater on there’ll be time…
Ah, yet, ere I descend to the graveMay I a small house and large garden have;And a few friends, and many books, both true,Both wise, and both delightful too!And since love ne’er will from me flee,A Mistress moderately fair,And good as guardian angels are,Only beloved and loving me.— Abraham Cowley, The Wish The air is…
There’s been some unusual activity in the garden lately. A squirrel walked up to me as I sat still sipping coffee, looked me squarely in the eye and didn’t run away until I called his bluff. A pair of bluebirds, normally quite shy, are aggressively guarding the birdhouse they made into a home. They let…
“It matters not where or how far you travel—the farther commonly the worse—but how much alive you are.” — Henry David Thoreau Sitting outside, listening to birdsong in the magic hour before the world shook the cobwebs off, I watched a couple of large birds fluttering tree-to-tree. I wondered at them, thinking perhaps pileated woodpeckers…
In the golden hour before the dawn the black-capped chickadees talked amongst themselves, adding more and more high-pitched “dee-dee-dee’s” to their song the closer I walk to them. I’m the intruding loner early in the morning and this is their warning to each other. I may live here, but this isn’t my backyard—it’s always belonged…
“If there seems to be no communication between you and the people around you, try to draw close to those things that will not ever leave you. The nights are still there and the winds that roam through the trees and over many lands.” — Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet We’re often…
Mid-March brought the turkeys back. They roost high in the white pine trees at the edge of the forest, protected from the coyotes, bobcats and other predators who long for a turkey dinner. They’re silent during the early morning hours until something disturbs them. This morning that something was me. Coffee in hand, I walked…
If there’s a perk to travel, it’s the opportunity to encounter things you would never see in your daily existence. When you pause from your frenzied attempt at getting things done long enough to observe what’s hiding in plain sight around you. On this particular trip, it began with a glimpse of a duck swimming…
“If men had wings and bore black feathers, Few of them would be clever enough to be crows.” – Henry Ward Beecher I stood at the window and watched three crows walk across the lawn, pausing now and then to pluck some edible creature out of the grass. Each walked with intent, and the three…