Prayer For Moving To A New Town

At fifty seven years old
I look back at all the botched
relationships I'm partially responsible
for, and weep.

It makes me treasure the ones
who've stood by all the high maintenance
and high passions with durable
endurance.

These are strange years -
such unfamiliar social
cultures we're living through.

I miss the old family gatherings when
everyone held an instrument
or used their voice to sing or
storytell.

The laughter from the retold
and the tears from sad lyrics handed down
gave me security as I fell asleep
wrapped up in soft
murmurs.

I miss crowded homes with
tables heavy with
sustenance and comfort.

I miss simple. I miss old fashioned fun.

I'm lonely, but not bored,
nor uncomfortable being alone.
They say creative ones are
never bored - but where
is the companionship
that the internet can't
supply? Skin to touch and
eyes to look into? Contagious
smiles to reflect? Where do I find
the other lonely ones?

Where do I find friendship
if I am tired of sitting in
a pew looking at the back
of people's heads - and bars
and clubs don't excite me ?

New town, please
utilize what I have to offer -
find me a few good friends
who might enjoy someone
who is still learning how to
be a friend?

New town, keep me from winter
kill. I beg you, please allow spring
to resurrect me tender and green.
Let me take root in a wild,
riotous border - bursting with color
and welcoming scent.

Rain

Every fall 

I try to change

my mind about

rain - talking myself 

out of dread 

and reframing it 

as being a desirable thing

to celebrate and relish. 

An annual epiphany 

I must revisit often -

since I live in the Pacific

Northwest close to a Rain 

Forest on an island 

where rain 

happens. 

Water of any kind 

makes me happy. 

Rain is water. 

This equation needs

embossed on my brain. 

I raise my arms to welcome

rain today, tomorrow

and the day after - 

like the mighty cedar

does. 

Pertaining To Coming Home and Moisture

All things estival have come to a swift
end.

Leaves falling crisp in the Rockies
follow me back home to soggy - where
blackbirds hunch shoulder to shoulder
drip, drip on a dripping high wire.

A statuesque blue heron
stands knee deep and still in high tide
blending into slate blue skies.

The inside of my dry, cracked nose welcomes
the drizzle.

I have front row parking
on the ferry. My thirsty skin,
eyes and heart want the windshield
barrier gone - it keeps me from the salt spray.
The freezing wind makes me thankful for it.


Logs float on the chop. I hope to
spot a seal's watchful eyes.

Ahhh ...
the absolute relief of being at one
again with salt water.



**(My friend Susan read this and asked if I'd seen Blue Mind In the Desert Ted Talk by Wallace J. Nichols.) I hadn't. Yet. It is fantastic. I just ordered his book and will find a blue marble to remind me....