comforting coincidence

sometimes the rain deepens

my sorrow

as though the earth pain

at my loss

but more often not

mere happenstance

and then my friend

quoted Einstein: ‘coincidence

is God’s way of remaining

anonymous’

how odd age

how odd age is

relative to circumstances

and age

at nine, thirty-nine was ancient

and now, at eight decades plus,

to lose a friend at forty-six

is to relive within myself

the frustrations and joys

of those years he will have missed

and be left only the hope

that his life, for him,

was enough

friends in blue

chuckles at puns

nods at sharing life incidents

warm hugs

smiles of understanding

friends gathered to unwind

together at lunch

and solving a jigsaw puzzle

as they sit looking out

over the pacific

osprey pair

osprey pair

one among the twigs of the nest

one on the crossbar high above

unsheltered from driving rain

waiting

stoic, impatient or oblivious of time

for nature’s next step

in their bespoken calling

to bring forth the next generation

ah, child

ah, the child within us

bleeding from gentle cuts

those who ‘know what’s best’

give without recognition

of children’s deepest needs

causing pallor in our impulse

   toward empathy

and ischemia in our surety of acceptance

   of self and thus of others

the unloved dies a victim of neglect

   and learned hatred

staggering on, we settle for criteria

   of worth as wealth, power and

   cosmetic beauty

even as the child within us weeps

knowing these are superficial and

   unworthy of our brief lives

rich holidays

such rich holidays

for so many people

in the world

a time we could share

our peace and hope

for life’s renewal of joy

if only we will

naked muscle

 thick rope of raw muscle

coiled in the sun

naked, vulnerable

mere feet from its hole

under the cement

unrecognized

without the markings

of shed skin

privileged

“Oh! I’m sorry; I did not mean

to disturb you. I just stepped out

onto my back porch to put this seed

into the bird feeder, forty – fifty – sixty

beautiful elk. As soon as feed them

I’ll go back inside.”

they watched—one a mere twenty feet

beyond me in my lower field—watched

but granted me the privilege

of stepping out and then right back in

without interrupting their feeding

then i watched them

from my dining room window

neutrality

i don’t hate you

i work hard to keep unfeeling

one way or the other

i cannot afford to care

because you use me for no purpose

you grow not

and waste my life

only so much

only so much i can do

when whoever is in charge wants more

i can only give less

and we are both dissatisfied with me

i am learning to forgive myself for that

osprey wait

osprey waited days in high nest

for her mate to arrive from far off

the pair now huddle

among the sticks

in rain so fat it splatters

drenching the wait now

for eggs that will need warming

and insistent little mouths

that will demand to be fed

chickadee tells me like it is

chickadee flutters chair to chair

to look me in at eye at my computer

and squabble that i am late

filling the birdseed plate

then adds the bird feeder is so public

the scrub and Steller’s jays have found

it and use their size to demand

first place in line

i cannot help about the jays but

i do rise quickly to replenish the seed

funny how sadness

funny how sadness for me

begins with not wanting

to do anything

or be with anyone

only when i’ve been hermitized

for days do i realize

i need to walk in the wind

to regain perspective

and my love of life

arbitrary

arbitrary

whoever has the power

makes the choices

from wherever they are

and whatever they see

or need now

forgive them

and go on

learning more of who

you are without

allowing them to define you

cornmeal mush smoothed

cornmeal mush smoothed

so there are no lumps

that taste of dry cornmeal

smooth to the tongue

and grit between the teeth

sweetened by autumn honey

that brings amber, brown falling

leaves to live again in mind

and mouth

rage of the mentally ill

rage of the mentally ill

beyond sane comprehension

perhaps a measure of their pain

at a world chaotic, without haven

unloving, often vicious

even toward those who would love

if they could reach them

snow dusting of blue

snow dusting of blue distant hills

turns them mysterious blue-heron gray

yesterday’s thick inches and pallid

fog created of my lawn and evergreens

my personal, enclosed, white world

this morning’s dusting brings

the distant blue close ‘round me

white world today

white world today

with icing of snow

and marshmallow fog

only foraging birds have color

goosebumps

i remember snow in late May

near Williamstown, Massachusetts

but here in western Oregon

heavy, white flakes seem unseasonal

this late in March—the daffodils

and crocuses shiver in the chill

new blades of grass cower

as do Oregonians unaccustomed

to such inclement weather

mist

misty white-gray fog this morning

super moon during the night

lit up my lawn and groves of pine

like a snow-dusted fairyland