Cusp of Winter
11 a.m. late November shadows (photos from a late autumn walk through my Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle) -Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts
November 21, 2007
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11 a.m. late November shadows (photos from a late autumn walk through my Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle) -Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts
(taken from the cottage at the retreat center where we taught our intensive last week) -Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts
Dear darkening ground, you’ve endured so patiently the walls we’ve built, perhaps you’ll give the cities one more hour and grant the churches and cloisters two, And those that labor—maybe you’ll let their work grip them another five hours, or seven before you become forest again, and widening wilderness in that hour of inconceivable terror when you take back your name from all things. Just give me a little more time! I want to love the things as no one has thought to love them, until they’re real and ripe and worthy of you. I want only seven days, seven
The Road Here is the road: the light comes and goes then returns again. Be gentle with your fellow travelers as they move through the world of stone and stars whirling with you yet every one alone. The road waits. Do not ask questions but when it invites you to dance at daybreak, say yes. Each step is the journey; a single note the song. -Arlene Gay Levine from Bless the Day, ed. by June Cotner I have returned from an amazing week. For the last six days my teaching partner Betsey Beckman and I have been immersed in our Awakening
***Make sure you go visit this week’s Poetry Party*** Your poems this week about hidden rooms are as evocative and amazing as ever. Click the link above and continue to submit them and I’ll keep adding them! Early this past summer I had another dream about a hidden room: My husband and I move into a new apartment which is much smaller than the one we live in now. We are having dinner guests over and I’m not sure where they will sit. I open a door I hadn’t tried before and behind it I find this large room decorated with antique furniture and
This is Poetry Party No. 7! These are posted every other Monday. I select an image and suggest a title and invite you to respond with your poems, words, reflections, quotes, song lyrics, etc. Leave them in the comments and I’ll add them to the body of the post as they come in along with a link back to your blog if you have one (not required to participate!) Feel free to post the poem along with my image below on your blog with a link back to this post. Please invite your readers to come join the party too! This
Today in the Christian church is the Feast of All Souls, the day when we remember our loved ones who have died. I did not write a post about this today, perhaps because I have been talking a lot about grief and darkness lately and that felt like enough. But then I read Rachelle’s achingly beautiful post about remembering her own lost son and I knew I had to mention this day’s significance and urge you to go read over at Magpie Girl. And while you’re there you might also hop over to her Etsy store and pick up one of
(I believe this photo is of otter prints I discovered in the sand, I have only seen these wonderful creatures fleetingly. The photo below is of Tune’s paw prints.) One of the great gifts of my time at the hermitage is being able to walk along the beach at low tide. Because the tides shift from day to day I keep a tide table to guide me each day as to when I can break from my work and allow the words and images that have been swirling around my mind to settle into my body. A walk always brings me some
For the last Poetry Party I invited you to reflect on the theme of the “beauty of broken things.” Your poetic responses were marvelous, spanning a wide spectrum of possibility and exploration. Many of the images moved me, such as “I am the hidden underside of things” and “ice so cold it is also fire” from Tess, “fierce winds sprung from God’s deep lungs” from Rich, and “swampy depths of truth” from Kievas, or the stark simplicity of Kayce‘s poem: “dark / broken / desperate… / still / i reach for the heavens.” Many of the poems offered probing questions
