I walked through a pine wood and up a birch hill and down the bluff to where the creek bed chatters, wild plum nodding. Then I cross black fields. It is spring, but cold spring, the part in which the possibility of birth is impossibly tied up with the bitterness and sting of death. The …
Once upon a time there was a man. He was hurt, at some point. He felt alone, or chided, or shamed. The feeling congealed into a shadow, and it followed him. The man would wonder, at certain points in his life, what was wrong with him. He would notice the shadow, nosing behind him like …
When I walk, I scatter crows. I am grateful for their hawking. It has been bitter cold, and everything living pulled away. Now they take the sky forming a little hurricane. Garrulous. I wrote a poem of black crow. *A crow is dancing on the hard winter highway. They outlive us. I want to bring …
A thought which does not result in action is nothing much, and an action which does not proceed from a thought is nothing at all. Thought, mindfulness, or reflection come naturally when we begin to cultivate silence. Silence bears with all things much like the earth bears with us. Yielding, accepting, and nourishing. We mimic …
