Author: simon13Page 1 of 4
A fresh leaf in fall,the chipmunk with hiccups,a soft mossy forest,some quartz in a stone.A new blue flower,the breeze in the branches,that cheep from the sparrow,a far wisp…
Will this Monday be the dayI learn to sweep the world’sfallen leaves; when Post-Its and dollarscan be brushed aside to revealthe sweet ground of life? Will this be…
How curious, says he one daywhile sitting on the couch,how life can be full in the headwith its to-dos and its bills,it’s difficult conversationsand its 2pm dates. And…
The kitchen smells of limethis morning – a zesty Hi!from the night before. Outside is fog,inside is Florida. Like a kick of joy in a groggy dream.
That moment,as I approach an open windowand get my first scent of the outside air.That moment…that moment is life.
When the big things and the terrible thingsget too heavy, I take a step outside,stand still and allow the small things – the feathered things and the leafy…
Let me drop into my quiet place,that deep safe of emptinessand everythingness; that warm spaceof home, where all’s OKand what’s not OKis not important. Let the rest of…
I wonder if we — as humans — would feel better stripping off the Lululemons,unpopping the AirPods, stepping out of the Lexusand remembering that we — too —…
When we’re five,we’re in lovewith fungusand berriesand mud. Then we grow up,buy a houseand wonderwhat’s missing.
Perhaps it’s only when we stop and be stillthat the world begins. Only when we ceaseand rest do we see the paper-white moth,the shiny droplets on the leaf,…
There are minutes when I’m boredand my brain and my fingers don’t knowwhat to do, so I scroll through Twitteror Facebook or the New York Times,allowing each new…
In my head, there’s a full executive suite,with a CEO, CFO and a director of operations,who gets hot and busy with all the operationshe has to direct. Then,…
One Monday morning, my head was heavy as I stressed the to-dos and the emails, Covid and CNN. My shoulders were tense and my jaw was clenched. I’d downed two coffees and needed three more. And then a bright white osprey ghosted past the window
with a fish in its talons.
Have you noticed,when the rain is barreling downin the forest, it sounds likethe trees are applauding?
On the kind of October daywhen the leaves are brownly matted,the clouds three miles heavy,and the wind sears a knifey bite;when winter seems tomorrowand darkness rushes early —a…
Where do we put the thingsthat don’t have names, which cannot startwith A or Z, or sit on this shelfor in this bin? How do we thinkabout the…
I uncovered the sparrow’s nest in the woodpile. It was made of hay, stiff, strong and light with a perfect oval dent. My brother, the engineer.
Have you ever wondered – he says one Thursday night –whether most of what we call lifeis – actually –just static?Is day-to-day reality the popcorn at the movieor…
Those loons, which must knowtheir warm water will shortly freeze.Do they worry? Or do they just fly? The monarchs, so tissue-flimsyand buffeted by the wind,they have an odyssey…
What is it to breathe in the worldand let the lungs fillwith damp leaves, sandy dunes, rot? Can we sense the pine, the hay,feel the stream, touch the…
I watched the sun go down last night. And I thought, how strange: the perfect distance, the ideal gravity, the right molecules. All of itso I could witness…
What do we do when there’s no right answers?When things are complicated, inexplicable,uncertain? Where do we send our desperate, hunting mindsthat are famished to know? Do we make…
Somewhere deep inside the chest, perhapsbetween the lungs and certainly behindthe jailhouse ribs, is a little box of OKness. We were born with this boxand we will die…
At the start of autumn,when the leaves are falling,a bird flutters upwards. Such a curious joy.
Whenever there’s a tinge of upsetness or not-rightness,I like to ask my body:Hi, body, what’s up? Is there anything going on you’d like to tell me?And my body…
Can we, just for a moment,arrest the desire to name and claim,to identifyand investigate? Can we stop the whens, the whats, the hows,and the becauses? Can we instead…
Today is a day for the small things. The sparrow, which so bravely sang,is now half-bird, half-leaf,shyly rustling the raspberry,while a bee nuzzling the ragweedthirstily races the setting…
At equinox twilight the world hangs,half day, half night,while the wind holds its breathand only the squirrels cheekily darelaugh at tomorrow. Because they made plans.
When the sky’s as blue as it is today,I want to dive into it and swim,to lose myself in its clearness and pureness. Until I realize it’s the…
Amid the blackened thistles,the frayed leaves,the stealthy fungusand the last white daisies. Amid the crow’s squawk,the osprey’s peepand the maple’s creak. Amid the dusty barkand the rotting log….
The woodchuck, which one day sniffed my shoebefore waddling to seek more clover,is gone. Like the summer that closed when the chill cameand the frost threatened,it departed too…
I challenge you to go outside
and feel the sun and smell the air
and hear the crickets and see the daisy…
and not fall back in love with the world you’re part of.
The slabby rock behind my house has been around for a billion years, give or take. It will outlast me, already halfway through this thing called life. But…
There’s that moment, at the edge of a cloud, when the rain considers.A splatter of drops, then none, then a splatter more.Until the cloud says, let’s be done…
Sometimes I can be still and breathe,and steep in the mellow soup of OKness,where I know that nothing can harm meand that all is well and all is…
I know that 2 + 2 = 4 and it’s πr2 for something else.And if I drive 60 mph for half an hour, I’ll be 30 miles away….
Sometimes I find my heart racing and my breath short as I twist on yesterday’s problems and tomorrow’s to-dos. Then I notice a chickadee on the tree outside….
An empty, empty morning with nothing but the wind. That breeze, touching the leaves of the aspen. Those leaves, which jostle and chatter. And through the window, I…
They’re burning the old cottage at the bottom of the hill.Gone are the beams that held up the roof,which shouldered the snow.Ash are the planks that made the…
Most mornings, I’m a little in awe when the sun comes up and the world fills with light and I get to say good morning to the one…
There’s a ripe peach inside my chest, delicate and soft. Why do I carry that peach with me, so easily hurt and vulnerable? Is the peach part of…
I’ve lived in many places; I’ve traveled to even more. There’s succulent London, with its trains and Tubes, it’s vascular Thames and shiny shops. Or proud Leeds, Victoria’s…
I don’t know where that wind is from or why the air’s so chill. I’ve no clue where the woodchuck is – sleeping or plucking fruit in the…
Snarl on the highway. Line-up at Foodland. Out of mint tea and only four sprouts left. Computer’s updating. Door’s blowing open. There’s a wasp elbow deep in my…
Once I drove into a moose and believed I was going to die. In the future I might be poor, alone and living by the side of the…
They’re chipping wood at the bottom of the hill. I can smell tree meat; it smells good and now I feel guilty. Because look what I’ve done. Inconvenient…
My car plays music. Not just Sirius XM and its 70s on 7, Jim Croce and Jethro Tull. Or Taylor Swift on the Moose with ads for beds…