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?
When I die,
I want to let go
and float away
as serenely
and gracefully
as the falling
leaves in autumn,
uncomplaining
yet curious,
surrendering
to the eternal
circle of life.
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.
In a wide-brimmed hat
and yellow jacket,
head down, hands on
lap, she sat on the bench
by the lake surrounded
by trees just beginning
to show their colors.
Was she meditating,
was she praying or
was she just being?
We’ll never know.
Luna and I walk behind
her, not wanting to
disturb her moment
of peace and solitude.
Photo created by AI!
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
As I drove along on
this cold, grey morning,
a flash of red caught
my eye, then three more,
as four cardinals flew from
the middle of the road and
disappeared into the white woods.
Later this morning through
the window during yoga I gazed
at a big tree that has captured
my heart, its snow-kissed branches
stretching protectively over the
courtyard of an old stone church,
filling the space with its gracefulness.
Rustling of dry
leaves underfoot,
sun slanting
through pines,
clickety clack
of a train
far, far away,
Luna sniffing
here and there,
horse droppings
on the side,
pine needles
cushioning feet,
shell-shaped fungi
on downed trees.
Listen and look.
It’s all there
waiting for you.
As Luna and I ambled around
the pond on this clear, new
morning with grass kissed by
frost, I began reciting out loud
as I often do Wendell Berry’s
The Peace of Wild Things.
At the very moment I
reached “and the great heron
feeds,” a great blue heron
flew the length of the pond.
Was this a coincidence,
synchronicity, or divine plan?
When the world makes no sense
and I am weary of its horrors,
I close my eyes and imagine myself
in the Blue Ridge Mountains, see
the purple and pinks of its sunrise,
the shadows in its ridges.
I imagine myself where Native
Americans once lived, respected
the earth and its animals, and
I see the wildflowers and plants
used by wise women as medicines.
I look up and see a hawk slowly
swooping in circles and floating
lazily among the clouds. My
body relaxes and my soul is fed.
There is this:
Another shooting by
an angry young man,
bombs falling in Ukraine,
more books banned,
a decision reversed by
men who have never
been pregnant,
acts of hate increasing,
and a budget that
cannot be settled by
pontificating politicians.
And then there is this:
On a cool morning
gentle rain is falling,
soft moss surrounds
an old tree in the woods,
a magnolia blossom
graces a tree on the
side of the road, and
the wood thrush’s throaty
voice calls among
other birds twittering.
untangling the web 