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.
You may also like:
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