The Girl in the Woods

I’m the girl in the woods

The one in the Dutchman’s Britches

With the heart of bloodroot.

I know you’ve seen me,

Seen me running through the oak,

Through birch and pine and aspen,

Through your dreams,

Running away, out of reach.

I’m the girl in the woods,

The one you desire, the one you fear,

The one with the violet eyes.

You can’t catch me, not in the woods

Or in your troubled dreams

I am gone, like smoke,

Like the past.

Judith

For a long-time friend, a shared childhood, for the little girls we all once were:

When I think of you,
I think of Lily of the Valley
and the plans for the
elaborate weddings we never had.

A girlhood trapped in the amber of time,
long-ago girls green as corn,
our sweet innocence light
upon our unkissed lips.

When I think of you,
I think of Lily of the Valley
and pretend that I don't know now
what we didn't know then.

I lie dreamless in a long-ago night,
our youth soughing on the wind,
our dreams shadows in the silver
moonlight.

When I think of you,
I think of Lily of theValley,
of heavy boughs of bridal wreath,
and apple blossoms falling softly
to the ground.

Home for the Holidays

It’s been a rough year – one way or the other.  Our world seems a different place from the world we knew, the world where we grew up.  There are no roadmaps, and it’s a bumpy ride. 

The holidays should be a comfort, but we all know better than that.  The pressure to entertain, to gift everyone under the sun and to tolerate our own relatives sometimes seems more than we can bear.  Thanksgiving is past and Christmas is hard upon us with all its anticipation and expectations. The days shorten and darkness descends on our planet, our home. It seems metaphorical, this descent of dark days before the world gets brighter. 

Our community has lost some fine folks this past year, people who were so much a part of the fabric of our world that we never really considered that they would leave us, and the holidays are rougher without them.  Some of the shine is gone.  The ancients considered the stars of the skies the eyes of those who have gone before us. We take comfort in in the night skies of December shining down upon all of us, reminders of those we love who are still a part of us and of our universe.  And that there is hope.

We are children of this universe, fragile souls on a fragile planet; we are not only stewards of that planet, but we are here to care for one another. We are all made of the same stardust: the magic of physics and religion and faith.

Be kind to one another, and to your home on earth as you pass through...we are all just passing through.

Days of the Dead

Another All Saints Day, All Souls Day, and the evening of the thinning veil, All Hallows Eve.  I recently saw an old friend, a friend of more than sixty years, a friend of the heart who asked me if I would be a pall bearer for him.  Of course, I said, as long as you agree to do the same for me.  We have just turned seventy, and the years behind us outweigh the time we have left.  We speak of death more as a familiar certainty than a vague possibility.  We speak of our parents and their deaths and the terrible silence they leave within us.


I'll see you on the other side,
wherever that may be.
Wherever death takes us,
or leaves us, for that matter.

We will recognize one another,
of course.
What will we speak of, now that
all on earth is done?
There can be no recriminations,
no mending the past,
and eternity contains no future,
just time.

Perhaps we will sit again
along the river,
Or ride across Section Five
behind broad-backed Herefords.
Perhaps we will rock silently
on the veranda,
cold beer and the majesty of
the Sangre de Cristos in
the heat of the late afternoon.

I'll see you on the other side.
You'll recognize me,
and we will relive good times
and our best selves.

Epiphany

It's the Twelfth Day of Christmas, and all through the house - boxes and papers and big red and green plastic containers - my Boxing Day.  Christmas is past, the elves and Christmas fairies have departed and ancient la befana has swept out the old.  La befana, who missed out on the Journey of the Magi because she was doing housework - ha, there's a lesson.  As Mary and Martha after her, la befana is a caution to those of us who might be inclined to insist on finishing their housework whilst the magic and wonder of the world passes us by.  I'm not one of those (except I can't leave a bed unmade or dishes in the sink).

I'm glad to pack it up and leave it behind until the darkness of the first days of next Advent befalls us. The tree comes down, the boxes go into storage.  Yesterday, I made ham and fresh tomato soup, a tradition I began after a trip to Cape Cod, where I picked up a local cookbook and found the unlikely pairing of ham and tomatoes.   I used tomatoes from our garden, frozen without processing, which I find perfectly adequate for sauces and soups.

It is a hard time to feel optimistic, when the festivity of the lights on the tree and candles on the table have dimmed with the reality of the body politic and its grim portents.  I was reading from the Book of Days, courtesy Convivio Bookworks, and found a lovely quotation by its author, John Cutrone on the Star of the East, and find hope in his posting:

                 And so we follow that star.  May it always be in our sights and in our hearts and in our dealings with our fellow companions on this old earth.  And one last time this year, we say unto you:  "Merry Christmas."

Blue eyed boys

I loved some blue-eyed boys,
long ago,
But not so far away.
Briefly, I loved them, too briefly,
of course.
Ice blue, sky blue, August blue eyes:
Cowboy, poet, philosopher,
Soulmate, playmate, schoolmate,
Mated early, mated late -
Blue-eyed boys, sun-streaked blondes
Decidedly not the dusky  boys of my dreams...
But they stole my heart
For a time.

I loved some blue-eyed boys
long ago,
But not so far away.