Grasping

Grasping

The branch balances
suspended on the dam
with one end hanging
over the spillway
not yet surrendering
to the rush of water below.

the other end
splayed twigs grasping at the air
above the still water from whence it came
as if reaching
longing
for that calm past.

Two days pass.
The branch remains unmoved.

and I wonder
when the force of the still water
that has brought it to this point
will take it on
to the exhiliration
of the full catastrophe.

Love and grazing

Love and grazing

Did you ever know
that when you cut the grass back
the roots die back too?

Overgrazing is
when they take another bite
of that new green growth

And the roots shrink more.
But that new growth: so luscious!
So tender and green.

so vulnerable
to the plant and so luscious
to the one who eats.

See it happen
in the mirror of still water
A prairie complete.

You are here and now

You are here, still, now,
growing up from the footprints
of evening walks.

When I awaken
I hear you
breathing beside me

It is not just my shoes
in my left hand
as I walk barefoot;
I can feel your grasp.

no coming, no going;
I carry you with me.

will I carry you still
to a new garden
where you have not
sweated and laughed

and a new house
where you've neither swept nor slept?

Guardian Moon

You sensed it first
a concern from the buzzed head
cigarette smoke
and spider design
sprayed on the back flank
of the grey green sedan.

So I watched him.
Locked the door when the spider car sat in the lot.

Then I went for a walk
He stood at the bottom of the driveway
Taking a picture of the sky
A striking field of tiny clouds
against the last glow of dusk.

And I see him anew
just looking up
seeking the guidance
trying to navigate this life
just like me.

And I walk.

And I stop

to see the guardian moon watching me
through eyes veiled by a halo
of silvered clouds.

Is she lonely?
or comforted to see the millions of eyes
watching over her?

Transitions

I've been interested for several years in the transition town movement - started in Totnes, England, it seeks to help communities increase their own self-resilience.  It facilitates this through community meetings, letting each town choose their own course, whether through community gardens or CSA's or incubator farm to build up their own food access, local currency to support their own businesses, and skill-sharing workshops to allow residents to learn from each other.

and what an apt name for me to latch on to.  my life is always in transition; I cannot really remember a time when my current living situation did not have an end date; whether through an upcoming move, a graduation, a seasonal job or just knowing that the next opportunity awaited me. 

So it is interesting for me to consider transitions when I am not currently plotting to move.  I'm here in New Hampshire, with a job, a partner, in the midst of a masters program.  And for me to reflect on how much transition is happening below the surface, like a duck that seems stable going up current but is paddling madly underneath. 

Like this relationship: in two weeks it will change dramatically, as he moves across the ocean.  and this house I've recently started housesitting.  In August my friend will return and the dynamics of the house will shift.  And my job, where my best friend will come to be my assistant in a week.  They are not endings or beginnings; but they are all transitions.  My connection with my partner is deep, and as he moves further away the connection I have with my best friend will shift to living in the same town and working together again. 

Farming has taught me a lot about the transitions from one season to the next.  the end of summer doesn't mean that summer will not return next year.  That faith, that the sun will rise again in the morning, that the white throats will come back to New England to sing in May, is the force of the water that keeps tugging me along, not allowing me to dwell in the eddy long before the current of life unfolding sweeps me around the next turn.