Even through the rain your gold glows.
Even though your days wore gray
more often than they wore sunshine,
you brought us sparkling jewels
and moments of stark delight
when your sun, at last, pierced
through the clouds. And more
than that, you brought reminders
that life is contrast, a dance
of joy and gloom to be balanced
in our hearts and sifted
until only the gold remains.
They’re doing their best, these guys,
to compensate for all the rain.
Ten inches this month, and then some,
falling almost every day. It’s as if
some cosmic command went forth:
Calling all daisies! Get out there and shine.
They’re everywhere. Lining the roads,
filling the meadows and fields,
popping up with their happy faces
from soil so rocky weeds won’t grow.
Ya gotta love ‘em. So willing. So bright.
So oblivious to anything but joy.
A touch of lace graces the garden now,
its airiness bright, despite the somber light
of yet another rainy day, as if it were
a bride’s gown glowing as she floats
down the aisle of some diffusely lit cathedral,
pure, and filled with hope and dreams.
The sight of it makes you want to stand
in reverence somehow for its tender faith
and joy, despite the darkness of the world.
Love is like that, proving, as the poet said,
that the heart has reasons that reason
I have to be sharp now, to look closely
when I pass the spot where the blackberries grow.
I play a game that only I know called ”Beat the Birds
to the Berries.” The birds, of course, could not care less.
They’ll get their share, and then some, regardless.
Their keen eyes spot patches that I’ll never know.
They catch the moment of ripeness on the fly.
The odds are definitely in their favor. But I play
anyway, just for the sun-warmed sweetness
of the fresh-picked seedy globes, bursting in my mouth,
tasting like summer.
This is the kindness of the Yes,
this serenity spread before you
in a vision of green calm.
Rampant with life,
with burgeoning potential,
dynamic and unceasing,
yet wholly undisturbed,
it rests, in trust, on the flowing
of the endless song.
And thus is becomes
all that it was meant to be.
There you are, silent and glowing, even in the shadows,
your intensity beckoning irresistibly: Come. See my soul.
Look into my secret center. Lose yourself in the mystery
of me, a reflection of your own desire and being, and ask
how this can be, here on this ordinary patch of earth,
in the middle of nowhere special, on an ordinary day.
I will answer you with the truth that everything
Is miraculous. Me, you, this moment, this place.
Think of all that had to happen just as it did to make it so.
Nothing is without weight or meaning.
Everything rises from Yes and sings its song.
Like some young critter set free from its cage
the rain-swollen creek is running wild.
No boundaries for me, it says.
Let me race. Let me roar.
It doesn’t care about the sand
muddying it, the banks sliding
into its flow. It’s reveling in speed,
in the heady downward rush,
as if it had, overnight, become
a mighty river. Let it play.
Summer will tame it soon enough,
turn it back into a calm and languid stream.
Today, let it be wild. Let it feel
its power and might.
Listen, it’s all a gift. No matter how it feels.
This moment is larger than we imagine
and could not exist as it is but for our part
in it. Our seeing stitches it together.
Our words are notes in its song.
When we move, we move the whole atmosphere.
We breathe air and drink water that has circulated
through countless other bodies before ours.
Our thoughts shape its future and color its days.
We give it its meaning and rhyme.
And it all shines back at us, a perfect reflection
in the grand cosmic mirror, of who we are,
each of us, and all of us together.
It was summer’s first full day here.
She began it by pushing away the clouds,
opening the way for her king, the sun,
to freely shine his bold, gold rays.
They colored the dawn and burned away
the fog. And then they warmed us to the core
as only summer’s sun can do.
In the neighbor’s garden, summer opened
the butterscotch lilies, a taste of the golden things
to come, the gifts of long, warm golden days,
the gifts of a loving summer.
This is the day of long light, the birthday
of summer. Drink it in. Let it glide
into your eyes and slide into your pores.
Lick it with your tongue, feel it seep
into your cells and flow through your veins,
this sustainer of life, this spirit of joy.
Celebrate its dawn; embrace its high noon.
Float in the glow of its dusk until
the stars rise and the fireflies
sparkle the night in its honor.
This is the day of long light,
the birthday of summer.
May you dance in it, and be glad.