The Vine That Tendrils Out Alone

A certain kind of Eden holds us thrall.
Even the one vine that tendrils out alone
in time turns on its own impulse,
twisting back down its upward course
a strong and then a stronger rope,
the greenest saddest strongest
kind of hope.
~Kay Ryan from “A Certain Kind of Eden”
from Flamingo Watching

This is the season for entwining enchantment.

Simply walking out in the garden in the morning, the tendrils are reaching out and grabbing onto my shirt and my jeans. If I stood still for an hour, they would be wrapping up my legs and clinging to my arms. There I would be, held hostage by these insistent vines for the duration of the season.

There are worse fates: a verdant Garden is exactly where we were placed to begin with.

The vines that don’t find a grab-hold, end up bending back onto themselves, curling back down the ladder they just created, sometimes knotting themselves into a nest. They wind up and down in nothingness and sadly cannot hold fast enough to be fruitful except creeping along the ground itself.

May there always be Someone Solid to cling to, to wrap around, to hold fast. May we once again know the glories of His Garden.

A Hand Full of Pearls

snowberry

wwuberries

My poems start the way an oyster does, with an aggravation…
~Kay Ryan, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry, 2010

If I can remember how often
inspiration starts with irritation~
a bit of sandy grit that hurts and aggravates
becomes something beautiful
if I surround it,
build on it,
smooth it to a shine
and lose myself inside.

A dozen times a day
I can choose to be angry
for imperfection
or be grateful
for nagging aggravations that
lead me beyond mere comfort seeking,
to transcend the mundane
and by grace,
touch the heavenly.

rain5

cultured-golden-pearls1