untangling the web

poetry about and photography of everyday happenings and sights

Author Archives: BHW


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Such Abundance

The grass crunches on

this cold winter morning

and frost twinkles on 

every blade. The sun 

reflects off a thin layer 

of ice on the pond and

two crows in cacophony

at the top of a tree 

discuss the morning news.

Shell-like white fungi 

decorates a fallen branch,

soft moss covers the roots 

of a tree, and fiddlehead fern 

pokes through brown leaves.

Suddenly there is a flash

of red as a pileated 

woodpecker darts from 

one tree to another.

Tell me, how can one’s

heart not lift with this

lushness? Tell me, what

will you do to save this

for those not yet born?


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Everything is Welcome

A tiny pink purse

and a pink hairbrush

in her hands, the 

petite girl looked

up at me, the

greeter, who must

have looked official

with my nametag,

and very seriously

asked “Are

hairbrushes

allowed?” My

answer was yes

although her 

mother may have

wished I said no!

But we know everyone

is welcome, whoever

they are and wherever

they are in their faith

journey, so why not a little

girl’s favorite hairbrush?


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Sacred Moment

Sometimes we startle the

heron as she stands at the

end of the pond, and she

spreads her mighty wings

and flies away, afraid of

our company. Today I was

not present, not seeing,

but worrying about so

many things. And then,

from a hill above the

water, I saw her framed

between two bare trees,

tall, regal, motionless.

With no camera to record

the perfect photo, I was

disappointed …. but then

again, perhaps that one

sacred moment was only for

the heron, my dog, and me.

.


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All Was Still

For just a few seconds

as we stood at the

end of the dock,

it was so very quiet

that I held my breath

and did not move.

Even the dragonfly

glided by soundlessly

and the geese were

hushed. Then the silence 

was broken by a car’s hum 

and the tree frogs’ calls.

But there was that one 

moment when all was still.


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August Mornings

Mist covers the pond

like a giant’s breath

on a cool August morning,

a morning that is a gift

after hot humid days.

And then it effortlessly lifts 

to allow the sun its show.

On a hot humid morning,

dragon flies dart around 

plants by the lake,

blue wings flashing, and

tree frogs chatter away while

water nibbles at pond’s edge.

New sweet gum leaves 

poke up from the roots of an

old tree and bees hum in 

a hollow trunk; pine needles 

are strewn across the path,

washed in piles by the recent rain.

White button weed hides in the 

grass and I almost miss it.

I try to be present, but it’s a challenge.


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A Walk in the Neighborhood

A vanilla latté, a clean

CT scan, and a walk in

the neighborhood

with Luna at my side

makes my heart soar.

The sweet scent of

honeysuckle, the sight

of lavender, the throaty

whistle of a tufted titmouse,

the piercingly sweet call

of a Carolina wren,

a deer scampering

across the road,

hydrangeas adorned with 

purple and white blossoms, 

magnolias in full bloom, 

and the delicate flowers

of coral bells stretching

heavenward. Orange

lilies screaming for 

attention, purple clematis

rising up a mailbox,

the resinous smell of a

blue spruce, and last

of all, my climbing 

hydrangea snaking its

way across the pergola

on the deck, blooming

like never before.


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Dead Nettle

In the field by

the lake minuscule

purple blossoms

peek out among

tiny, stacked,

heart-shaped leaves,

all on one stalk.

Before today, I 

saw only the

blossoms, but 

this morning I 

stopped, bent 

down, and was

amazed. They

say you are a

weed, but edible

and medicinal.

To me, you

are a miracle.


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Hope and Healing

Remembering how Olivia

planted crocuses around

a tree before an illness 

in an old Walton’s episode, 

I too planted them, needing

something to look forward

to. It was a warm October

morning a few weeks before 

surgery when I knew the 

unwelcome visitor in my lung 

had to come out and the 

road to recovery would be 

long. Now here you are 

pushing up your green shoots 

and opening your blooms.

I am still here and both

of us have made it through

the dark days of winter 

and are turning our heads

toward the healing sun.

Image by 🌼Christel🌼 from Pixabay