Reflections

  What a gathering-the purple tongues of iris licking out at spikes of lupine, the orange crepe skirts of poppies lifting over buttercup and daisy. Who can be grim in the face of such abundance? There is nothing to compare, no need for beauty to compete. The voluptuous rhododendron and the plain grass are equally filled with themselves, equally declare the miracles of color and form. This is what community looks like- this vibrant jostle, stem by stem declaring the marvelous joining. This is the face of communion, the incarnation once more gracefully resurrected from winter. Hold these things together

Love Poems to God, II, 22 You are the future, the red sky before sunrise over the fields of time. You are the cock’s crow when night is done, you are the dew and the bells of matins, maiden, stranger, mother, death. You create yourself in ever-changing shapes that rise from the stuff of our days— unsung, unmourned, undescribed, like a forest we never knew. You are the deep innerness of all things, the last word that can never be spoken. To each of us you reveal yourself differently: to the ship as coastline, to the shore as a ship.

Summer in the Methow Purged from the hive, she hovers, then dives into the stamen’s glow. Spring gold A whirling dervish on the Nootka rose I want work like that! Work that makes me dizzy Makes me drunk on sweet nectar finds me dancing across the plush, pink petals of all that I love. -Kathy Heffernan I was riding the route 14 bus last Thursday toward downtown and gazed up at the words and images posted overhead.  My eyes were of course drawn to the poem in the midst of all the advertising.  The Methow is a valley in the North

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  Sunrise to sunrise, prayerful rhythm of the day. Will we be awake? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ -Haiku by Antony Hanson at Coming to the Quiet / photo is mine taken on Saltspring Island