The Flower of a Strawberry

I’m coming back here…

How wonderful to be a low thing…

I know the bird outside my window this morning isn’t singing for me…

Osprey, white angel spearing fish…

I refuse to mourn the death of a daisy…

We planted walnut saplings…

Every summer grasshoppers enter our screened porch and die…

Sometimes when I climb the hill back home…

This morning I woke and saw the sun had placed diamonds on each blade of grass…

And then we have nature…

Why leave when there’s a city…

Have you ever looked at the flower of a strawberry…

There’s something lovely about the baby maple in the driveway gravel.

I close the door behind me and descend into your world…

How can I fail to fall back in love…

One evening, my mind full of stuff, compressed, buzzing, hot, I step outside and hear the sparrow…

I will wade ankle-deep into the squashy boggy lands…

Every year the tree awakes…

On one of those gray days, those fog days…

They say it’s just a coffee cup…

On days when my mind is stormy…

The tiniest tweet, the first yellow flower, the south-west wind…

Deep inside is stillness and love…

Did I do enough this week?…

Then there’s moss…

Have you ever loved something so much you want to cry?

Today I want to be with the birds and do bird things…

I hope I never cease to be filled with wonder when after the rain, the sun comes out.