Category: Summer Serenade

Few, driving past it, notice the old iron bridge.
It’s fallen into disrepair after all these years.
But my 80-year-old neighbor remembers
when a road crossed it, leading to the school.
Once a saw mill, a grist mill, houses and stables
lined the creek here. The man who built them
bought fifteen acres of land for $1200.
Lives as real and dramatic as ours,
come and gone. Pay attention.
Notice the remnants of what was. Cherish
the reality of this swiftly passing world.
A future most can’t even imagine
is quickly gobbling us up.

The day lily chose today to open.
When you’re a day lily, you only get one,
you know. Well, maybe two or three
if you’re strong and lucky. So you have
to make the best of it, to give it all
you’ve got, to take this splendid gift
of hours and breathe in all the world’s
sights and sounds, to offer it
your boldest colors, your purest song.
And when your day is done, to carry
with you, sharp and clear, the memory
of every incredible moment that
it was your honor to live.

Truth is simple. You can curve it all you want,
embroider its gowns, stretch it into elaborate fables.
But in the end, it’s still the irreducible essence.

It’s the light, shining from the center of all things.
It’s the life, endlessly emerging.
It’s the love, streaming boundlessly
from the heart of the Yes.
It rides our breath. It unfolds through our being,
through the being of all things.

Today, in my garden, It’s a patch of little blossoms
beaming their joy on a warm summer day.

Be glad.

We name things: rock, water, earth, grass,
trees, leaves, sky. But in truth it’s all a whole
—one song, one dance—no more separate
than eye from elbow in the whole of you.

The elements flow from form to form,
supporting and nourishing all. Your breathing
is no different from that of the trees.
The same light falls on us all, the same rain.
The same love brings us into being
—you, me, the earth, the stream, the trees—
grows us, dissolves us, raises us transformed.

Standing here you feel the force of it whispering
in silent thunder beneath all things. You breathe
with the water, with the earth, with the leaves.
Your heartbeat and the song of the birds
and of the rippling waters are one.
Truth lives here, flowing through you.
Feel its grace. Be at peace.

It matters that you see
and remember because
you are the Keeper, the one
charged to hold this moment
as clearly as you can. Imprint
it indelibly on your mind,
so that one day, when such
things as wild summer roses
have forever disappeared,
you will be able to tell
how they were real,
and delicate, and how
they let you know
that you, too, were real,
breathing their fragrance,
touched by sweet beauty,
hearing their life-song
singing in your soul.
Look closely, with open
eyes and a welcoming heart.
You are the Keeper.
Remember.

The faces of the daisies beam at me from the field radiating sunshine from their centers.

 I think how we used to pick them when we were young, saying “Loves me. Loves me not” as we counted their petals, one by one. The last petal was supposed to reveal the truth.

Relationships don’t always run smoothly or continue forever. They run their courses; they have their cycles. But today, as I waived goodbye to the smiling face of a visiting friend, I realized something my childhood game didn’t tell us.

Once hearts touch, the only truth is “Loves me.”
Always.

Summer’s kaleidoscopic days unfold,
new jewels emerging at every turn.
Here, the iridescent winged ones,
there, rainbows of petals, berries, and seeds,
of lemon and emerald grasses and leaves.
And all the while the air, perfumed with fragrance,
dances with buzzings and breezes and song.
Then come the nights, glowing with fireflies
and bright and glittering stars. Such gifts!
And all so freely given, dear one.
All so freely given.

I stood there, mesmerized by the cosmos,
their orchid petals light as butterfly wings
and as delicate, when, for no reason at all,
I remembered that today was sweet Neta’s birthday.
How she blessed her family, and all who knew her!
From somewhere in the greater cosmos
her gentle laughter floated, soft as down,
into my mind and my heart could feel her smile.
You would have loved this place, Grandma,
I said to the image of her in my mind.
And how like you are these flowers.

Except for the laws of nature herself,
they speak their pieces and sing their songs
without regulations or rules.

The send up fireworks in celebration and joy
for the gift of their independence.

They worship as they please in bright carols
sung to the Yes. Their petals are flags of freedom.

They stand tall, in dignity and grateful pride.

“May all sentient beings be free,” they sing.
“May all sentient beings be free.”

Savor it, this season of summer.
Unwind. Stretch out. Be free.
Master the art of mindfulness.
Mimic the openness of flowers.
Exhale all your worries and concerns.
Inhale the beauty and peace.