A River Far Away and Long Ago

The river

Of my childhood,

That tumbled

Down a passage of rocks

And cut-work ferns,

Came here and there

To the swirl

And slowdown

Of a pool

And I say myself-

Oh, clearly-

As I knelt at one-

Then I saw myself

As if carried away,

As the river moved on.

Where have I gone?

Since then

I have looked and looked

For myself,

Not sure

Who I am, or where,

Or, more importantly, why.

It’s okay-

I have had a wonderful life.

Still, I ponder

Where that other is-

Where I landed,

What I thought, what I did,

What small or even maybe meaningful deeds

I might have accomplished

Somewhere

Among strangers,

Coming to them

As only a river can-

Touching every life it meets-

That endlessly kind, that enduring.

The other Mary that is endlessly kind and enduring I see in the deer along the river bank This doe, gentle and mild, may this day be s too fearful to look into her reflection in the pool, for she is on guard for predators. If, we, the prey and predators, were to ponder and slow down, would we see that we flow with life in the form of Ghandi, Jesus, the newborn child, and the mother duck who gives her life over to the snake to protect her eggs? If we were to come upon this river and pause, would we not be tempted to take a leap of faith and jump in? I know I am, and mourn that I hold back.

What would that be like if were to go out our doors today as the sleepy rays of the sun come over the hills, and see the stream of life alive in everything? And then jump in. going where the moment takes us, to strangers, to pain, and to no purpose whatsoever, and in that process we wash the wounds of the world with kindness.

Where would you like to take a leap of faith, and yet hesitate?

At Round Pond

owl

make your little appearance now

owl dark bird bird of gloom

messenger reminder

of death

that can't be stopped

argued with leashed put out

like a red fire but

burns as it will

owl

I have not seen you now for

too long a time don't

hide away but come flowing and clacking

the slap of your wings

your death's head oh rise

out of the thick and shaggy pines when you

look down with your

golden eyes how everything

trembles

then settles

from mere incidence into

the lush of meaning.

My father-in-law, Jerry, is visiting us now these weeks of late spring. He brought his binoculars and his presence in the moment, for he has lost most of his short term memory ability because of Alzheimer's. He won't remember what birds he has seen, but that hasn't stopped us from looking. He asked what were the "good birds" to see and I told him of the Barred Owl who comes to our clothesline every year to hunt, and of the Swallow-tailed Kites, one who just flew over our yard a few days back. The Owl though has not returned and I wonder if he has died, for surely he would not forget us or the great hunting in our mostly uncut lawn.

Yesterday I took Jerry to our congregation that has a Sunday morning bird walk. I asked our most impressive bird leader, Caleb Gordon, if the Barred Owl had been seen lately on the grounds and he said, not so much. But that didn't keep us from looking. Towards the end of the walk the owl came in silently to the oak trees above us. The owl looked down on us and I wondered what meaning there is in the gaze the owl exchanged with us if the memory is to be immediately erased as in the case of Alzheimer's or in the case of too busy schedules that move from one incident to the next. Maybe we can't hold onto memories, but that doesn't mean that we don't look for meaning and interconnection in our days and offer what we experience to those who accompany us on our walk through life. So every day I tell Jerry about the owl, and the Swallow-tailed Kite he saw later that same day, show him pictures of them, and we find satisfaction in these moments of interconnection with one another. So maybe my owl won't come back this year and Jerry won't remember him even if he did, but for this moment, I can hold onto the grace of having family with us, now, if not always into the future. Owl of life, owl of death, our whole lives.

What do owls mean to you?