And then there’sthe yellow trees dripping with after-storm light. And then the busy people’s faces, each with its effortless beauty. And then the steely, spacious twilight glow in the west, and to the east the tall poplar shining dimly against dark gray distant clouds. And then I’m walking in a world once again enchanted, once… Continue reading November Evening
Category: Poetry
The Simplest of All Regrets
I’m in one right now—one of those days that will nevercome again. The brown puzzle piecesof oak leaves scatteredover the sidewalk, and the sunrisestretching itself into a long,luxurious thing. And yousitting across from me laughingto yourself about somethingon your phone, totally unawareof the alchemical morning lightagainst your cheek. Please body! Please mind! Wake fully into this moment. How… Continue reading The Simplest of All Regrets
October Poem
One Good Wind It’s October so, yes, the worldis dying but I always thinkI have another monthat least, maybe two,to marvel in the middleof fall’s kaleidoscope,walking this fractal tranceof kindergarten yellows and(somehow!) iridescent pinks.But then one good windcomes in off the distant Pacific and trees that just yesterday dripped with dazzlestand skeletized, strippedof their abundance for the… Continue reading October Poem
This Is Not the End
This is notthe end.News that may comeas a salvein the dry cold of winter,or like an unwelcome tugon the hammockof August.However finishedyou’re afraid you areor wishyou could be,remember:this earth that restsso still beneath youis racing around the sun,teaching your bodyto dance the seasons.You are carried with a million years of faith:that there is more in… Continue reading This Is Not the End
All I Mean
All I Meanby James A. Pearson There are a thousand woundsbut all I mean by healingis this: that you learn to hold yourselfin exactly the wayyou were never held. Here’s the homework I got an online course I’m taking this week: To set a notification on my phone that pops up several times a day… Continue reading All I Mean
Self-Compassion Poem
Self-Compassionby James A. Pearson Remember that a lakecan freezeand unfreezea thousand times and feel no shame. A coach I worked with a couple years ago often reminded me that life is a cycle of forgetting and remembering. Over and over. One day you feel close and connected with yourself, with the world. The next day… Continue reading Self-Compassion Poem
The Mud Season
Patience darling,it’s still too earlyto trust the seasonwith that tenderness you holdin your globed hands. I can feel it, too—the yearning to plantyour fingers in the warming earthand release what’s so alive in youinto the scrum of all life. But the ground’s still frozen beneath all this mud.And winter, even on its way out,will take with… Continue reading The Mud Season
Caminante
by Antonio Machado (my translation) Walker, only your footprintsare the path, and nothing else;Walker, there is no path,paths are made by walking.Your walking becomes the path,and when you look backyou see a trail you can neverset foot on again.Walker, there is no pathexcept wakes upon the sea. Eight years ago I packed everything I owned… Continue reading Caminante
Worker Bees
I wonder if you can pause—just for a moment—the emergency of your lifeand step out into the quiet of the world. Hear how gently it conveysthe delicate thread of birdsong,how quickly it can soothethe rupture of a passing jet.Feel its vast, smiling invitationto rest back into the person you’ve been all your life. Listen now–the… Continue reading Worker Bees
Game Trails
The forest closes behind meand now this subtle path at my feetis the red thread between worlds,a path made by the soft stepsof wild things, who are at homein the tangled mystery. But I am new to this way of walking—how the trail flirts and teases,fading and hiding and calling you on;how it disappears and… Continue reading Game Trails