A FEW WORDS

Photo/painting by S. Auberle
An excerpt from Mary Oliver's "The Summer Day"

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed,

how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn't everything die at last, too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do,

with your one wild and precious life?

~Mary Oliver

FOR TODAY

Photo by S. Auberle

We

must,

at

least

for

today,

adorn

the

newly

budded

maple

leaf

with

one

thin

caterpillar.

~ mimi

FYR BAL

Photos by S. Auberle

Today is Summer Solstice, when the light of the sun lingers longest. Here in our northern country this time is celebrated with a festival rooted in Scandinavian mythology--Fyr Bal (Norwegian for the word bonfire)--the burning of the winter witch. She is burned well and truly, with twelve great bonfires lit all up and down the beach at sunset. Sailboats, kayaks, boats of all sort drift quietly on the glass-smooth waters, the sunset putting on a perfect accompanying performance. People sit quietly, mesmerized by the flames. Magic--the only word for it. And now, let the summer begin...

AN INFINITE NUMBER

Photo by S. Auberle

"We have an infinite number of reasons to be happy,

and a serious responsibility not to be serious."

~Maharishi Mahesh Yogi

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"God is a comedian playing to an audience

afraid to laugh."

~Voltaire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It is not necessary for the public to know

whether I'm joking or whether I'm serious,

just as it is not necessary for me

to know it myself."

~Salvador Dali
~

PROVERB

Photo by S. Auberle

"Turn your face to the sun

and the shadows

fall behind you."

~ Maori Proverb

ABC POME

Photo by S. Auberle

absurdly brilliant

crow darkens

every flower garden

happily

in June

kissing lacy mums

naughty

orange poppies

querying roses'

sweet tales

understanding very well

xenophobia &

yesterday's Zen

~ mimi

The ART INSTINCT

Bowl by unknown African potter

Sitting here this morning, sleepily admiring this bowl I found in a thrift shop. I absolutely love it, for no explainable reason. I've never been to Africa, am not a pottery collector, and am not in love with zebras or elephants. But when I saw this sitting on a shelf in a dusty resale shop, I fell in love with it. I love to hold its heaviness, feel the smooth clay finish, imagine the man or woman's hands who made it, holding it just like me. Was she sitting outside a hut, under a vast African sky? Or, more likely, barely eking out a living in one of the crowded cities. Was he old, young, surrounded by laughing children?

I heard just a small piece of a program yesterday on National Public Radio, talking about a book--The Art Instinct--by Denis Dutton. I haven't yet read the book, but the premise is that all art and artists are connected by a common thread through the ages...from the cave painters at Lascaux to Van Gogh, Mozart, the Beatles, Picasso, and my grandson, happily absorbed in his painting of a lion. And me.

I love the idea and look forward to reading the book. In the meantime, there are poems to write, art to make...pictures to take.
Life is good...

BELIEVE

Photo by S. Auberle

"I believe in God,

only I spell it Nature."

~ Frank Lloyd Wright

LAND OF COLD NORTH WIND

Photo by S. Auberle

Ignore the below post--Land of Blossoms and Breezes. Ignore the part about the warm south wind. It's so cold here on this, the 7th day of June, that my poor, confused Christmas cactus is blooming! That lovely warm wind lasted for all of one day. The temperature is now barely breaking 50 degrees, in a wind straight out of the north. Accompanied by, in case the wind should feel lonely, an icy cold rain. And the worst part is that this weather is forecast for the next week! Yes, it's poetry weather. Yes, the moisture is good. But my asparagus has returned underground, mushrooms refuse to peek above ground, the corn and squash are hopelessly stunted and I don't even want to think about the plight of once proud and tall tomatoes--can't even bear to look. I'm sure there's a poem in all this, it's just that it's difficult to write from beneath blankets and quilts. Maybe I'll just borrow this short piece from an unknown poet of the past...these are the words that started me down the path of writing poetry...the first poem that sent chills down my back, the criteria I still use today to know authenticity...

O western wind

when wilt thou blow

that the small rain down can rain;

Christ, that my love

were in my arms

and I in my bed again!

~Anonymous

LAND OF BLOSSOMS & BREEZES

Photo by S. Auberle
Back in the land of blossoms and breezes:

Warm wind today

out of the south...

cherry blossoms

flying away

as their season ends.

These are the days

you might begin

to wonder

how many

springtimes are left?

How many more days

do you get to dance

with the wild gypsy wind?

~ mimi