A quarter of a century ago when I found my home
I promised myself I would never take this beauty for granted.
Still, eventually I realized
I had begun to greet it without passion;
like a courteous kiss, without consciousness or celebration,
like a thoughtless lover,
Too hurried to greet beauty,
I left my joy in the high pasture and evergreens,
forgot he feeling of earth on the soles of my sandals,
the taste of summer’s air on my tongue,
the tang of spruce and
the silence in which my heart once reconnected to living.
I returned from my walk in twilight,
the full moon rising over the mountains
framing them in the purple twilight of late afternoon,
lacing the air with feathered light in counterpoint to the last colors of the setting sun.
Reawakening wildness, banished
my worries vanishing in her shadow.
She swallowed Fukushima, the grief of Iraq,
and drone flights uneasy, with their payloads
of supposition and death.
After my walk I returned to my home,
took up living, and emerged from my writing,
filled with the seclusion that surrounds me
and the companionship of so many relations.
I will wake tomorrow with fresh ambition
to push back the bullying burdock from struggling hosta,
to prune the trees giving each leaf enough sun,
to water gardens and feed my rose.
Now I will remember, to touch the sky,
swallow the colors of sun-sets
taste the verdant colors and shifting pastels,
feasting on them like ripe fruits, exotic wines, and fresh vegetables.
Once again I have chosen to live,
cloaked in the awareness of beauty
until I can no longer see or hear, smell or taste,
worship or comprehend her presence,
without allowing my spirit to leap free into the air.