This is another poem I read in the woods while visiting Bloedel Reserve earlier this month. It is a good reflection for me today.
The Art of Being
The fern in the rain breathes the silver message.
Stay, lie low. Play your dark reeds
and relearn the beauty of absorption.
There is nothing beyond the rotten log
covered with leaves and needles.
Forget the light emerging with its golden wick.
Raise your face to the water-laden frond.
A thousand blossoms will fall into your arms.
-Ann Coray (2011)
I am not pithy. You may have noticed. I used to write poetry. It was pithy. But the truth was and still is that I have to think A LOT to write a little. Not to mention the rewriting process.
Okay, I’ve already written more than I intended. This is supposed to be an introduction to a poem I saw in the woods at the Bloedel Reserve. April is poetry month.
I like this more than a pithy amount. Maybe you will, too.
Song of the Thunders
Sometimes
I go about pitying myself
while I am carried by the wind
across the sky.-Songs of the Chippewa
-Translated by Francis Densmore
It’s spring.
I have wonderful family and friends.
I am thankful.
Salmonberry blossom at Fauntleroy Creek, Seattle.
Peony. Seattle Chinese Garden.
Dogwood from the neighborhood.
Bloedel Reserve, Bainbridge Island, WA
Skunk cabbage looking glamorous.
Bloedel Reserve, Bainbridge Island, WA
Neighborhood cherry blossoms.
Pileated woodpecker at the Bloedel Reserve.
She flew from this tree to her nest, located in a hollow in a nearby tree.
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