Beauty Lives Again

On a rim-ledge of Bryce Canyon
Beauty lives again
Far from cries cacophonous
And the woes of men.

Color in a sweep of sound and 
Inarticulate,
Raises spired against mankind
A rocky parapet

~Norman MacLeod “Bryce Canyon: Utah”

Maybe, just like us, God was stupefied; 
He rarely knew how any day would end,

had to see things finished to call them good.
Here, He might even have done without
the bric-a-brac of the days that followed

except the fourth day’s (bodies of light)
essential for the colors of the stone,
the greater light especially adroit.

Just watch it nurse a puny flame at dawn
—purple with an edging of vermillion—
by sunrise to a full-fledged conflagration

then temper it to golden-rose by noon,
darker still as day begins to fail.
The oranges go bronze, the reds, maroon…

~Jacqueline Osherow from “Inspiration Point, Bryce Canyon, Utah”

Seeing this place for the first time today, I think God must thoroughly enjoy playing in this gigantic sandbox. He experiments with shapes and sizes, He changes color and texture, He stacks layers and piles up rubble.

It feels like I could be visiting another planet but this one is His masterpiece.

I am stupefied at the Creative Mind behind this.

At a time when the world’s cacophony is louder than ever, I needed this quiet assurance that God is still at work as sculptor and painter, shaping more than mere rock.

He is still at work shaping us, so that beauty lives above, below, all around and within us.

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Such a Strange Sweet Sorrow

The passing of the summer fills again
my heart with strange sweet sorrow, and I find
the very moments precious in my palm.
Each dawn I did not see, each night the stars
in spangled pattern shone, unknown to me,
are counted out against me by my God,
who charges me to see all lovely things…
~Jane Tyson Clement from “Autumn”
in No One Can Stem the Tide

I have missed too much over my life time:
one-of-a-kind masterpieces hung briefly in the sky
at the beginning and the ending of each day.

For too long, I didn’t notice,
being asleep to beauty,
oblivious to a rare and loving Artist.

We’re already a month into autumn.
I’ve had a hard time letting go of summer.
Until the last week of heavy rain and wind,
our days have been filled with blue skies,
warm temps and no killing frosts.

In short, it felt like perfection:
sweater weather filled with vibrant leaf color, clear moonlit nights, northern lights and some outstanding sunrises.

I feel I must try to absorb it all, to witness and record and savor it. 
God convicted us to see, listen, taste and believe.

Can there be a more merciful sentence for His children,
given the trouble we people have been to Him? 
Yet He loves us still, despite the strange sweet sorrow we cause.

See, listen, taste and believe.  I do and I will.

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I’m Neither Here Nor There

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.
~Seamus Heaney “Postscript”

We too have visited Ireland,
hoping to somehow capture enough
to bring home with us.

How impossible to bottle up wind and rain
blowing over an expanse of unending green.
We didn’t need to bring it home because it felt like home.

The sea, the fields, the farms, the people, the music,
the unexpected moment found over each rise
and around every tight turn of narrow roads.

How can I tell you? What words are adequate?
Let yourself be caught off guard,
let the wind buffet you and blow you wide open.

And when light
comes from nowhere I can see,

when my soul is clothed in
golden bandages, ribbons of grace,
how can I tell you? Or even tell myself
so I can write it down? No words
are bright enough to catch
those fingerprints of radiance
that flicker on my wall.
~Luci Shaw from “I Say Light, Thinking”
in Harvesting Fog

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Out of Sight

A neighbourhood.
At dusk.


Things are getting ready
to happen
out of sight.


Stars and moths.
And rinds slanting around fruit.


But not yet.

One tree is black.
One window is yellow as butter.


A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms
this moment.


Stars rise.
Moths flutter.
Apples sweeten in the dark.

~Eavan Boland “This Moment” from In a Time of Violence

photo by Nate Gibson

This moment,
when I ordinarily pay no attention,
when I have so many things to worry about,
when I try to fuss the future into submission…

This moment,
is when I need to realize if not now, then when,

This moment
won’t return, so I must not waste it.

This moment,
is my chance to see and taste and feel and love
as if there is no next moment.

This moment,
suddenly so sweet,
suddenly is gone,
out of sight,
so I follow.

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That Point of Light

Push on it again,
that point of light.

What do you think
light is?

What is anything?

§

If you aren’t telling kids
how to live

in a world
you can’t imagine,

what are you doing?

Telling God
about fall’s
claret-colored leaves.

§

Touch me
like you do the foliage!

~Rae Armantrout “Conversations”

There is no season
when such pleasant and sunny spots
may be lighted on,

and produce so pleasant an effect
on the feelings,

as now in October.
The sunshine is peculiarly genial;
and in sheltered places,

as on the side of a bank,
or of a barn or house,
one becomes acquainted and friendly with the sunshine.
It seems to be of a kindly and homely nature.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne from  The American Notebooks: The Centenary Edition

Of course
I reach out and touch a leaf lit like fire
though cool on the surface,
the flame for show only

I can only guess at what the world might be like
for my grandchildren
but I do know this:
the leaves will turn fiery red in the fall
before they die.

So much has changed
since my grandmother stood on her porch
and wiped away a tear at the sight
of the reddening maples on the hillside.

And so much has not changed.

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There’s Never Enough

Just as a painter needs light
in order to put the finishing touches to his picture, 

so I need an inner light, 
which I feel I never have enough of in the autumn.
~Leo Tolstoy from Reminiscences

I was drinking in the surroundings:
air so crisp you could snap it with your fingers
and greens in every lush shade imaginable
offset by autumnal flashes of red and yellow.
~Wendy Delsol

Let’s go I said,
to find some light, but not just any light I said.
Sure he said, let’s go.

He loves to drive winding roads to breathe chill alpine air.

We headed 90 minutes northeast to find what I needed.
The highway empty going up.
Gas tank nearing empty with no time to fill up.
Only a few photographers there, searching too.

What we see from our backyard forty miles away overwhelms
when standing awestruck in its own front yard.

Now my nearly empty tank slowly fills part-way.
This dose of inner light will last me until next autumn.
Overcome, overwhelmed, overpowered
as though it’ll never be enough.

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Such a Full Tide

We walked downhill
to the beach, her hand in mine,
small step after small step.
She said Hi to the doggie on the leash,
Hi Mommy to a woman passing
on the street, Hi Daddy to a bearded man.
On the sand, she stared transfixed
at the water, the slight waves,
the tide not yet pulling out.
She looked up toward a flap of wings.
Bird, I said, pointing at the seagull,
and she mimicked, Bird,
then turned her gaze back
to the waves’ slow slapping.
Later I sat, looking at trees below me,
a hint of haze burning off the far bay,
the world busy working and sailing,
waking, while I sat waiting as Evie napped
that quiet Maine morning,
the full tide of grandmotherhood

lapping my shore.
~Laura Foley, “Full Tide” from It’s This 

They each carried a balloon from a special event for kids and their families.

It had been a morning of our family being together, just because. Being a grandparent needs no other reason other than “just because.”

Big sister was saying how she planned to take her balloon to school on Monday to show her friends. She was enjoying the balloon’s bobbing and weaving in the air … until suddenly it popped, causing her to jump and then she had nothing left but tatters in her hand.

Her face crumpled and the tears began to flow.

Little brother gripped his balloon more tightly, looking at his sister’s tears and worrying the same thing might happen to his balloon. His face contorted, ready to cry right along with her. And then there was a moment of clarity and insight in his eyes.

He handed his balloon to her. He said, “here, you can have mine.” And though he was clearly sad at the thought of having no balloon himself, his eyes were shining with proud tears.

He had discovered what it meant to sacrifice, to comfort and care for someone he loved.

She was speechless. She held his balloon gently, struggling to know how to respond. If it was even possible, she loved him so much more in that moment.

So their parents said to her brother, “we think that gift deserves stopping for a hot chocolate on the way home.”

Big sister looked at her parents, looked again at her little brother, and handed the balloon back to him, saying “why don’t we share?”

Hot chocolate makes all things wonderful and cozy and better, when shared.


Especially for weeping, laughing, full-to-the-brim-with-love grandparents.

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Cold Water on a Tender Tooth

Last evening,
As I drove into this small valley,
I saw a low-hanging cloud
Wandering through the trees.
It circled like a school of fish
Around the dun-colored hay bales.
Reaching out its foggy hands
To stroke the legs of a perfect doe
Quietly grazing in a neighbor’s mule pasture.

  I stopped the car
And stepping out into the blue twilight,
A wet mist brushed my face,
And then it was gone.
It was not unfriendly,
But it was not inclined to tell its secrets.

  I am in love with the untamed things,
The cloud, the doe,
Water, air and light.
I am filled with such tenderness
For ordinary things:
The practical mule, the pasture,
A perfect spiral of gathered hay.
And although I should not be,
Consistent as it is,
I am always surprised
By the way my heart will open
So completely and unexpectedly,
With a rush and an ache,
Like a sip of cold water
On a tender tooth.
~Carrie Newcomer “In the Hayfield” from A Permeable Life: Poems & Essays

deer running in the foreground

Cool water on a tender tooth describes it exactly:

a moment of absolute wonder
brings exquisite tears to my eyes.
I’m so opened and exposed as to be painful,
feeling a clarity of being both sharp and focused.

it’s gone as quickly as it came,
but knowing it was there – unforgettable –
and knowing it is forever
only a memory,
both hurts,
and comforts…

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Intended for Joy

There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.
~John Calvin
as quoted in  John Calvin: A Sixteenth Century Portrait (Oxford, 1988) by William J. Bouwsma

It is too easy to become blinded to the glory surrounding us if we allow it to seem routine and commonplace. 

I can’t remember the last time I celebrated a blade of grass, given how focused I am in mowing it into conformity and submission. 

During the summer months, I’m seldom up early enough to witness the pink sunrise. In the winter, I’m too busy making dinner to take time to watch the sun paint the sky red as it sets.

I miss opportunities to stop and notice what surrounds me innumerable times a day. It takes only a moment of recognition and appreciation to feel the joy, and for that moment time stands still.  So life stretches a little longer when I stop to acknowledge the intention of creation as an endless reservoir of rejoicing.  

If a blade of grass, if a palette of color,
if all this is made for joy,
then perhaps, so am I.
Even colorless, commonplace, sometimes stormy me.
Indeed, so am I.

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Tell About It

Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
― Mary Oliver

Hello, sun in my face.
Hello you who made the morning
and spread it over the fields…
Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness.
~Mary Oliver from “Why I Wake Early”

(to remind myself)

i  

Make a place to sit down.  
Sit down. Be quiet.  
You must depend upon  
affection, reading, knowledge,  
skill—more of each  
than you have—inspiration,  
work, growing older, patience,  
for patience joins time  
to eternity.

ii  

Breathe with unconditional breath  
the unconditioned air.  
Stay away from anything  
that obscures the place it is in.  
There are no unsacred places;  
there are only sacred places  
and desecrated places.  

iii  

Accept what comes from silence.  
Make the best you can of it.  
Of the little words that come  
out of the silence, like prayers  
prayed back to the one who prays,  
make a poem that does not disturb  
the silence from which it came.

~Wendell Berry from “How to Be a Poet”

Here I am, telling you what I pluck out of silence every morning,
tossing my prayer to the world to share
what is astonishing to me
so as not to forget each moment.

Here you are, listening to this silence every morning,
reacting with kindness, receiving my heart –
this is even more astonishing to me
and sacred.

Thank you for being here to see what I find.
Thank you for sharing with others in your life.
Thank you for letting me know it makes a difference.
Thank you for making the best of my little words and pictures.

Welcome back, each and every day.
Happy you are here.

If you are interested in receiving some newly created photo note cards as a thank you gift for your financial support of this website, the new cards and donation information can be found here.

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