Sunday, May 23, 2010

Work - Selected Poems, Volume 2

May 23, 2010

How beautiful this morning was Pasture Pond.

It had lain in the dark, all night,

catching the rain...

All day I hang out

over a desk

grinding my teeth


Then I sleep.

Then I come out of the house,

even before the sun is up,

and walk back through the pinewoods

to Pasture Pond.

In the nights long hours, we catch the beauty after the grind of the day. What if we could wake to this dreamt beauty by a walk in the ponds, instead of the headlines of the gulf oil spill coming to shore upon the water edges of Louisiana? What if we do, and we just don't know it? What if all the elements in the world catch all the other elements - the rain, the oil, the birds, our stresses that lead to grinding of teeth? Then we walk in beauty - to the pond, to the oiled beaches, to the memorial services, to life.

What is for you your Pasture Pond?

1 comment:

  1. My small flower garden is my Pasture Pond. As I sit up on the edge of the bed I can see it out of my window. I scan it to see if that rose bud burst open today or if the newly potted plant survived the squirrels' nibbling a taste to see if it is suitable to eat. Sometimes I sit enjoying the beauty too long and forget to head to the bathroom until it is almost too late. I can come back to my beauty any time and sit on the side of my bed or on the window seat to center myself after experiencing all of life.