black and blue

A black labrador bit me
And I bit back.
Now I am black and blue
But he is still just black.

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bear rug
fish tale

trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

- Joyce Kilmer


Keystone Forest photo courtesy of Nancy

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joyce kilmer

paradise lost - paradise regained II

For some early life is marked by outward movements. We move out of our family, out of our communities, out of our inherited political positions and out of our religious dogmas. Propelled by an impulse to seek, we search for more and yet feel nostalgic for what we left behind. We feel impulses to return, to go back and to recreate what we had but 'you can never go home'.

We may reassess these outward movements and wonder if what we stretch for will always remain just out of reach. Some may stretch even further whilst we will dig deep within ourselves to connect with family, community and belief. We are still moving forward and evolving but the propulsion is from within rather than without. This inward transformative movement is not about nostalgically going back, it is about becoming. 'Human is not to be but to become'.

We turn away from the attractive distant glimmer of the sun and toward what was always close at hand. We never lost what we now regain and it was not paradise but simply the earth beneath our feet and ourself within under our skin.



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paradise lost - paradise regained I