Field Notes: Winter 2022/2023
Under the weight of ice and snow,
saplings bend, touching the earth,
a threshold to
yet another invitation
to slow time,
to admire what surrounds me.
our walk becomes more beautiful.
Prayer used to look like this: my eyes closed, head bowed, hands folded while someone addressed a male god.
Today prayer looks like this: my eyes open, face to the sky, arms outstretched while I lie in the snow, feeling the earth beneath me, breathing in awe, breathing out gratitude.
After eight inches of heavy, wet snow
Along the trail I find bent saplings, the ends of their branches buried in snow. I tug to release them, and the young trees spring back. What’s weighing me down? I wonder. What do I want to release?
Pairs of small, tight buds
with sharp points
contain what they need for this year’s growth.
Wrapped in protective scales,
for the tree’s knowing.
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Late Winter 2022/2023 – Not in miles or minutes; Birdsongs and heartsongs; Postcard to the Woods; Desktop spring
Fall 2022 – A just-right angle; Not so Common Milkweed; Will they come true?; En route to the forest floor; I can’t just call them all brown; I wonder if their encounter was a poem
Late Summer 2022 – My amended reply; Bird voices; Looking out. Looking in.; Palmate instead of red
Summer 2022 – For the beauty of this walk; Woodpecker rhythm; Elliptic-leaved Shinleaf; The service I want to honor
Spring 2022 – Wings; Pink joy of spring; Wondering: One walk, one afternoon; A new-to-us trail; Companions after a sleepless night
Winter 2021/2022 – Breadcrumbs; But then, so when, and then; Winter visitors; My inner three-year-old meets ice; Tender hope, holy beauty