Sunday, September 27, 2009

Hidden Under Snow

This is a poem I wrote as winter began to let up its grip in Oregon. Portland is far enough north that we have real seasons, but far enough south that they don't keep hold that long. Because one of my friends is Australian, I keep thinking about that. It's night there when it's day here. It's summer there when it is winter here. I believe it is very good to keep that difference in mind. It can be one of the true salutary effects of our internet connections if these connections can give to us the true measure of the planet. I can exchange with my Australian friend, but not easily converse. She lives upside down and backwards, or I do.

I have another friend who has gone rather quiet. She lives in Tehran. Ouch.

Hidden Under Snow

Thank You for water
fresh from the spring at the head
of the running creek
hidden under snow
sparkling in the sun of love.
I've seen with Your eyes,
know I've seen through love,
through the angelic limpid
true soul of fierce joy.

February 13, 2009 8:59 PM

14 comments:

  1. Giving thanks, no matter to whom, especially for water of life, is healing in itself in my opinion. I give thanks for my little life and I have learned in this post to look for "fierce joy". Thank you for this post.

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  2. Wherever there's winter, spring can't be far behind.

    ...except in Antarctica, but who's counting that?

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  3. Yep. Upside down for sure right now :)

    I've decided to strive for gratitude, just for today anyway....and fierce joy, there's never enough of that.

    xxx

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  4. I was following the pack
    all swallowed in their coats
    with scarves of red tied ’round their throats
    to keep their little heads
    from fallin’ in the snow
    And I turned ’round and there you go
    And, Michael, you would fall
    and turn the white snow red as strawberries
    in the summertime

    White Winter Hymnal
    Fleet Foxes

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  5. Yes, Joseph, who's counting that, except the people in Whitehorse and Mendenhall, Yukon Territory, where it takes a little longer and gets a little darker. Spring is a short moment and summer is a little longer. The growing season I am told is pretty intense.

    Michelle, can one actually strive for fierce joy? Here you go, right side up again. It's me that's upside down, like I said. Loving you.

    Ghost, Your music, I can almost hear it.

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  6. There was nothing but silence
    even echoes muffled, buried
    under threat of avalanche
    though I screamed and raged,
    stomped my feet, needing to know
    Why, Why? But then

    softly at first
    just a gurgle trapped
    under winter’s glaciation
    you whispered

    then spoke

    a shout breaking through, a roar
    shimmering a thousand mirrors
    of pale sunlight, kissing
    earth’s hope of spring.

    How I loved you then.

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  7. Yo, Rachel. I get better than I give.

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  8. I don't see why not?

    A simple matter of setting your heart I imagine....snort

    But then, I'm kind of sideways today.

    Thank you for your thoughts and 'stuff'......

    xxx

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  9. Michelle, I hope you will tell me how it works out. Fierce joy running through you for very long probably begins to show, like turning your hair curly if it's straight or vice versa, your skin becomes a golden color and your eyes begin to flash fire perhaps. Something like that.

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  10. Quite possibly...I have felt it like that :)

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  11. It is a gift to share perspective as though fresh water from a spring. I've been lucky this way.

    xo
    erin

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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.


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