Balance

The days of light give way now
to the lengthening nights. At noon
the warmth of the sun yields
to gusts of cold wind. My eyes travel
up the trunks of two trees, one bright,
one lost in shadow. Between them,
the red leaves of a distant oak dance
in the autumn-blue sky.
My heart drinks in all of it, playing
its beat-pause, beat-pause rhythm.
As I turn to walk down the path
that will climb up the next hill,
my breath flows in, then out.
It’s all one tender song—the up and down,
the in and out, the shadow and the light,
each in perfect balance with the other.
At dusk, I watch a nearly full moon
rise in a clear dark sky as a lone cricket’s
song rides the evening’s silence.

Pheasants

A light rain, almost mist-like,
splattered the vacant side road that runs
from the highway into town, subduing
what remained of autumn’s colors.
The day was warm for November
and mild, and I breathed its fragrant air
through the window I had rolled down
a bit despite the rain. Daydreams
floated past as I drove, suddenly
interrupted by a quick movement
in the fallen leaves that lined the road.
Pheasants! I hadn’t seen one in years.
Ring-necks! The sight of their plumage
sent me back to the time when I
was four and my dad, a hunter,
carefully unrolled layers of newspaper,
revealing his bounty before my eyes
right there on the kitchen’s linoleum floor.
The iridescence of their colors
stunned me and mixed with the scent
of wet feathers and blood.
My dad let me touch me them.
Such magnificent birds!
Today, two pheasants touched me.

The Seasons of Change

Yesterday, at least three people told me that after rolling my clock back an hour before I went to bed I’d get an extra hour of sleep this morning . But naturally, I didn’t. And I bet you probably didn’t either. The body’s internal time-keeper doesn’t give a fig what our clocks say.

Nevertheless, I confess that I like it when people say we’ll get that bonus sleep. It’s such a hopeful way to look at change, forecasting the possible benefits.

Changes, after all, even changes for the better, are disorienting to us all. They bring the discomfort of having to adapt, to let go of a piece of our familiar world in exchange for an altered one. When they’re not for the better, they can drag clouds of insecurity and doubt across our internal landscapes.

But happy or not, change is one of life’s certainties. I keep a small rock engraved with the word “change” on my kitchen window sill to remind me of that. Not only does it advise me that the present is a flow-state, but it helps me keep my balance in the face of life’s unexpected turns.

It reminds me that sometimes change is rocky; life’s like that. It’s like a brook that meanders for a time, then tumbles down a hill into a whole different terrain. “Be like the water,” my rock tells me, “that achieves new smoothness as it goes on.”

I think about that picture. It’s not an instant smooth. Even water needs some time to adapt. But a new smoothness will come–and here’s the key–“as it goes on.” How long it takes depends on the size of the tumble and the shape of the new terrain. Sometimes we go through tumble after tumble. Yet the terrain always has its bends, and some of them open to a world of surprising light and relief. Remember that and just keep going forward. You never know what the next turning will bring.

And remember to look for opportunity as you go, too. Change unfailingly has a few of those tucked away. It offers new perspectives, but it’s up to you to spot them and then to paddle your way over to their side of the shore. They’re usually bright little bubbles with a glow of hope to them. And hope is a wonderful thing. It propels you in good directions. It lightens your spirit and mind. So keep your eye out for possibilities.

It’s like the writer and philosopher Alan Watts said: “The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” I heartily agree.

Be like the brook, and flow on.

Warmly,
Susan

Never Give Up

You never know in the morning
what a day will hold. Surprises
almost always lurk in the folds
of its hours, some welcome, some not.
But both are gifts to you, even those
that come disguised as setbacks
or misfortune. One rewards;
the other teaches. Take this flower,
a scarlet nasturtium, that yesterday,
before it bloomed, I had almost covered
with mulch for the winter, but didn’t.
Beneath its fat, green, lily-pad leaves
I saw its tiny bud, full of life and hope.
This morning it beamed its thanks
and whispered, “Never, ever give up.”

The Bodies of Trees

Suddenly, the bodies of the trees
are bare again, their wondrous limbs
etching poems against the sky.
I stop and stare as if I’d never seen
them before, awestruck once more
by the realization that these towering
beings are as alive as I am,
cycling through the same seasons,
knowing the same ebb and flow
of darkness and light,
of activity and rest.
I reach out to touch the smooth
cool bark of a sycamore,
and although its consciousness
is far beyond my knowing,
I feel a connection and something
deep within me breathes, “Alive.
Yes, alive.”

Benediction

Here and there, in protected places,
handfuls of golden leaves still wave
from the tops of the maples. But
for the most part, the branches
are bare, ready for their winter naps.
Except, of course, for the oaks,
the magnificent ones, who only now
put on their amber autumn color.
Wearing their glowing crowns
they reign now, trumpeting the trees’
last song, proclaiming the judgment:
Well and beautifully done.

Proof

If you keep faith and follow
the whisperings of your heart,
‘though the day be dark
and swept with rain, a moment
will come when the skies
will open and the Yes pour down
its light.

A Send-Off for the Milkweed Seeds

Fly, babies! Grab this wind and go!
You are the hope of butterflies,
the guarantor of their tomorrows.
Claim your spot on the soft earth,
and dream your milkweed dreams
the winter through. Dream how strong
your stem will be, how fragrant
your dusty-rose flowers. Imagine
the flaming wings of the Monarchs
as they return to you day after day
to feast on the nourishment that
only you can provide. Then rise
from your dreams, my children,
and live them. Fly, babies, fly.
Grab this wind and go.

Stepping Stones

Walk into the world trusting.
Even when you don’t know how to go,
each step opens to the next,
and the Yes will guide your way–
tugging your sleeve, posting signs,
singing tunes, ringing bells,
placing stepping stones across the rivers.
Are not the rivers themselves all led
to find their way to the sea?

Even Now

Even now, beneath skies deep with clouds
and a cold wind blowing, even now,
in the days of dwindling light, the Yes
provides reminders.   The trees may be bare
and the fields stripped of vegetation,
but look: here is a shrub still holding
its color, a kiss-bright red to dispel
the gloom.  Go into the night believing,
it says, that you are supported, and loved.