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Sligo Creek Snowdrops

“Sligo Creek Snowdrops” by Randal Mason. [Image: white flowers with drooping heads and upright green leaves emerge from a bed of dead leaves. A creek and some bare trees can be seen behind them.]

“Snowdrops” by Louise Glück

Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring–

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.


by David Wagoner

Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

[via The Writer’s Almanac]

Imbolc 2014Walked home from the store today midst patches of half-melted snow, fitting at this midway point between Winter and Spring. It’s a time of uncertainty and hope, and we may find ourselves questioning if the warmth will ever really return. Taking personal stock, I remember what our ancestors once knew so intimately—pace yourself, ask for help when reserves run low, and savor each mild day as a gift. Spring will be here soon. Blessed be.

Just Act Natural

Interdependence Day Celebration
by Alla Renee Bozarth

I sit in quiet regard
in the garden swing,
eyes over hours drifting
among creature kin,
see them here —

An afternoon ant’s effort
to take home a feast
for the clan — fur-clad
yellow-striped honeybee,
immensely ten times her size,
leaving his outgrown body
a spirit gift to earth diners now —

Iridescent green hummingbirds
fighting over twenty-five wild
yellow irises — plenty, plenty
for the tiny two of them!

Bright green dragonfly napping
on a bowl of yellow rose petals;
yellow sunlight dancing
in clear water, sunbeams bathing
in gold pools of water,
down petrified wood and rose
quartz ledges, down the fountain’s
rocky pyramid mountain; and
brightest yet canary yellow
goldfinch friends climbing
under cascades of the sun-and-water
partners to partake in their pleasure,
drink in the light and take flight
like new birds just born.

There isn’t time to tell you more —
I am assigned to be their angel this evening
and put out fresh sunflower seeds for supper.
They have fed me all day with their music
and colors — it is the least I can do for them.

And for the Three Treasures —
The Wild, the Way, and Friends —
I thank you.