Trees,
heavy with ice,
bow down to the earth.
People
bombarded with lies,
bow to the liar.
There is No Other, We are One
There is no Other, we are one.
Hatred is a heart disease, it
can be cured and
it must be cured.
We can cure it.
11 innocents shot down and
13 bombs mailed.
Thousands marching
Just to be safe.
One young woman living in a
sanctuary
church, unable to
enjoy Fall’s beauty.
Hatred is a heart disease, it
can be cured and
it must be cured.
We can cure it.
There is no Other, we are one.
Inspired by Ruth King’s keynote address for the Chrysalis Institute
Creeping Kudzu Of The Mind
Creeping Kudzu of the mind – fear, worry,
blame – chokes out old
growth, smothers
new, slides
from
mind
to mind,
leaving no
room for the green
of love, acceptance, or wisdom to grow.
JDG
Early Sunday Morning
Striding ahead on Pine Trail
in Powhatan State Park,
energized by cooler air,
I almost trip and fall,
and am reminded that
I might be missing that
for which I have come,
so Luna and I
stop, look, and listen.
A canopy of trees overhead
keeps us almost dry
as the gentle rain hits
leaves far above
and plops on those below.
I see wet and glistening
Sassafras, and
shy, striped Wintergreen,
soft green moss,
and a path strewn
with rusty pine needles.
I hear birds chattering
to their neighbors
and squirrels foraging.
Only a distant plane
interrupts the peace
that comes to those
walking in the woods.
Who could ask for more?
Right here, right now,
I have everything I need.
Mr. Bluebird
Fiercely protective of
his territory and brood,
a male bluebird pecks on
a downstairs window,
attacking the enemy.
He flies up and
begins anew on
an upstairs window,
seeing the image only
as one who will do him harm.
Even though we understand
the mystery of a reflection,
we are much like this bluebird,
unable to see who
the real enemy is.
As Pogo said, “We have
met the enemy and
he is us.”
Thoughts
I deadhead the daffodils, once beautiful, now fading,
so I can see the purple flowers on the copper ajuga.
I think that sometimes to see beauty,
we have to shed what once was,
what we held on to for so long….
memories, expectations, dreams.
Only then can we see the tender shoots
of new growth, of new beginnings.
One Frosty Morning
Diamonds in the grass,
frosted spider webs in a roadside ditch,
weeping willow branches a tender green.
What else is there on my path,
seldom noticed but there,
waiting to reveal itself?
Often it is the unexpected
that brings us joy.
A wrong turn, a red stoplight,
children laughing,
a single daffodil pushing up.
Embrace them all!
Morning Meditation
I love this poem written by my friend
When I consider
how quickly the morning frost
fades beneath sun’s warmth.
I pause and send my patches
of frozenness compassion.
JDG
Pay Attention
On a grey morning, bright yellow
fields of flowers
caught my eye and
lifted me up,
caused me to pay attention to
spots of beauty —
pink crepe myrtles
feathery grass —
shifted my thoughts and reminded
me to focus
on here and now
not there and then.
Thoughts
My husband and I and our dog Luna drove into the city yesterday to hike across the new Potterfield Bridge and then through the woods and back across the James River to Belle Isle, an island located at the fall line of the James with a beautiful view of the rapids as well as Hollywood Cemetery and the Richmond skyline. The day was perfect for a long hike—cool and sunny after several days of rain. Many people were out to enjoy the water and the fresh air — young and old, black and white and brown, dogs and children.
Belle Isle has not always been a happy place. During the Civil War it was an open-air Confederate prison camp with minimal shelter. The facility was built for 3,000 prisoners but reports say that this number was doubled or tripled at times. This overcrowding resulted in multiple health issues and the heat in the summer and cold in the winter added to the prisoners’ problems. A sign on the island says that 1,000 Union soldiers perished while there.
As we sat on the rocks at water’s edge refreshing our tired feet in the cold James River, Luna nearby, I could not help but wonder what the 1,000 Union soldiers who died on this island would think if they knew people were still fighting the war for which so, so many gave their lives.
untangling the web 