UNDETTERED

Who will she become,

this wee lass
who flings her cap
with such abandon,

she cannot know
what her future holds,

none of us know
at such a tender age,

we get off track
between A,B,C’s and Socrates
before finding our way,

it’s all okay,

every way has merit,

yet here she is,
undeterred,

by forks in the road,
by the great unknown,

maybe it’s the elders
who have gone before
whispering wise counsel
to her tender heart:

watch your step, don’t trip on that rock,
beware of looming danger,

it’s everywhere and nowhere
you need to be,

use your intellect, your bravery, your discipline
to traverse the highways of life,
steer with a steady hand and clear mind,

and always keep our whispers close,

we will help you reach
the future your heart seeks most.

Photo taken of my great niece by her parents Josiah and Amanda Garvey.

The stone steps,
embedded in the earth,
rose from ravine to hilly peak,
offering a way for small feet
to complete the ascent,

such a big task for a small lad,

yet, he was glad for the day,
for the way he could
breathe in and out,
while hiking up and up,

he paused to fill his pockets and hands,
an acorn with a perfect cap,
a stick shaped like a wand,
a shimmery, glassy stone,
a leaf the color of sunset,

every few steps,
something new caught his eyes,
something new caught his ears,

chittering chipmunks,
chattering squirrels,
birds fluttering to and fro
in the vast canopy of trees,

when he reached the top,
his folks marveled at his finds,
then took his hands to meander
their way back home,

it was much later in life,
when he, once again,
ascended the stairs,

this time, his giant strides
reached the peak without rest,

he recalled that earlier hike,
the feeling of being so small,
the thrill of seeing it all,

so, he went down
and did it again.

Photo by my niece, Amber, of her young son.

From the beginning,
she displayed
a great lightness of spirit,

stretching in her mother’s arms,
her graceful hands and feet
seemed to dance in the air,

before taking her first steps,
she stood on tiny toes
like a ballerina waiting
for the orchestra’s cue,

she grew, as children do,
she skipped, she danced,

clover tickled her toes,
dandelion puffs brushed her nose,

on the swing set,
she almost touched the sky,

on firefly nights,
her feet left the ground
in great leaps of delight,

through magical days
and dream-filled nights,
gossamer wings grew
for future flight,

one evening, when the moon
shone like a beacon of light,
she lifted toward the starry skies,

she’d finally become the butterfly
she was always meant to be,

free to soar
above the earth,
free to fill the world with her
grace and spirit,

*****************

it’s hard to let them go,
we love our butterflies so,

leave on the light,

even the bravest
return to the cocoon of youth,
and the loving embrace of home.

Photo of my great niece taken by her mother, Alanna

GIVING BIRTH TO SOMETHING NEW

She was walking in the park
having a less than stellar day,

so many things had gotten in the way
of her happiness,

not sure when it all began
or when it would end,

maybe it was a trend that would
continue on some unknown trajectory,

but there, by the pond,
she spied baby goslings
all fluffy and soft,

just beginning their lives,
but already swimming and foraging,

tough little birds,
not yet afraid of unseen dangers
or a world of strangers,

she smiled considering
all the hopeful signs of spring,

trees giving birth to leaves,
geese giving birth to goslings,
people giving birth to dreams,

maybe she could give birth to
something new,

quit counting her losses,
start counting goslings in the pond,
blossoms on the trees,
smiles on the faces of passersby,

maybe she could start counting
on a different trajectory for her life,

one step, one dream at a time.

Photo by Annalies Corbin at Sunny 95 Park. See more of Annalies’ photography at https://annalies-corbin.pixels.com/
follow her at @annaliescorbinphotography on instagram.

GATHER IN THE WONDER

I’m the moon of your childhood,
the moon of your now,

never sleeping,
always keeping watch,

even on the darkest days,
when the world
seems to have lost its way,

even then,
I’m here to remind you
that wonder exists,

it’s there on a starlit night,
at the dawn of day,
in the ways the universe
offers grace,

gather in the wonder,
feel the gift of peace.

I wrote this during the summer of 2020 as a reminder of the
connectedness of all humanity, especially during this
difficult time in the world when we’ve all been frightened yet hopeful
under the same ever-present moon.

by Rita Bourland
Photo of the moon by Lisa Berg
taken at 4:40 a.m. on Aug. 4, 2020

THANK YOU FOR BEING

The branch outside my window
beckons you near,

while inside,
the teakettle whistles,
the dryer hums and tumbles,
and the radio croons
old, familiar tunes,

I see you before I hear you,
perched in splendid hues,

I pause to delight
in the mere sight of you,

carefully preening,
sweetly singing,

thank you for being
outside my window.

Photo by our neighbor, Annalies Corbin. See more of her photography at:
https://annalies-corbin.pixels.com/
and follow her at: @annaliescorbinphotography on Instagram.

She plays Gigi as she turns in slow circles,

she was hand-carved in Switzerland,
then painted with a delicate brush,

but this poem is not about the music or the art,

it’s about the gift,

54 years ago, in the summer of 1967,
my sister, Judy, and her best friend, Ellen,
boarded a student ship called The Aurelia
out of New York Harbor,

it took nine days at a top speed of 30 mph
to cross the Atlantic,

they spent an entire, epic summer in Europe,

I later listened to Judy’s tales of watching
the bulls run in Pamplona,
falling for a young man named Enzo in Rome,
riding trains, hitchhiking, dancing,
turning twenty-one in Paris,

feeling completely, totally alive,
feeling independent, feeling free to make mistakes,

finding common ground with people
from all over the world,
finding joy in simple meals, new experiences,

finding a gift for me in a small shop in Geneva,
then carrying it home in an overstuffed suitcase,

I was fourteen, awaiting my own adventures,
yet feeling so alive holding the exquisite music box,

that’s why I still have it,
why I still wind it from time to time,
why I will keep it on the mantle until I’m old
and misty-eyed with nostalgia,

to remind me that some gifts
carry indelible memories,
that our stories can encourage
others to cross oceans,

that love is sometimes extended
at just the right time,
to just the right person,
for all the right reasons.

Today she saw Tomorrow,

she adjusted the focus
on her binoculars,
stood with feet apart, hand on hip,
peering toward a future
only she could see,

where a grandmother hugged
without fear,
as tears streamed
for all the days she’d been alone,

where a family gathered near
for a long-delayed wedding,
then danced with abandon
late into the starry night,

where a loved one’s passing
became a delayed remembrance,
with treasured folks present
to celebrate a life well-lived,

where glowing embers
from a roaring campfire
illuminated the smiling faces
of reunited friends,
whose rekindled dreams
found tender, promising roots,

Today she saw Tomorrow,

where a touch, a hug,
a kiss on the cheek,
once a distant memory,
existed again,

Today she saw Tomorrow,

a perfectly normal,
tomorrow kind of day,
where everything,
and somehow nothing,
was as it used to be.

Photo of Haddon taken by her mother, Eliza Ingram

Maybe the conditions aren’t right

I push my chair back,
get up,
grab a cookie,
pour a glass of water,

I sit back down,
adjust the light,
let my fingers rest lightly on the keyboard,

nothing,
nothing,
nothing,

I turn on some music,
jazz, then pop, then classical,

I sit back down, frown at the computer,
think about walking my dog,
think about dinner,
think about why I can’t think,

if I just sit still,
maybe I’ll grow some shallow roots,
enough to hold me in place ‘til
something beautiful sprouts
from my distracted mind.

+++++++++

It doesn’t take much for a tree to take root,
a scant amount of soil, moisture, sun,
and the process begins,

it might not survive
past the cold days of winter,
but tries valiantly,
even in the worst conditions,
to become a tree.

++++++++++

I sit back down,
let my fingers rest lightly on the keyboard,
and begin.

Photo by Susan DeGraaf

FULLY AND VIBRANTLY ALIVE

She can be brave,
She can be daring,

an intrepid explorer at the South Pole,
an astronaut mapping the Moon,
a hiker crossing the white sands of New Mexico,

or a girl traversing a frozen pond in Maine,
the ice so thick, she can navigate without paddle or boat,

bundled in hat and down coat,
with sure-footed boots carving a path
across the vast expanse,

sun gleaming,
horizon seaming the earth to sky,
she moves steadily,
not afraid of things she can’t explain,

she’s in control of this day,
of the way she wants to think,
to perceive, to receive the light streaming,

illuminating where she’s going,
where she’s been,

for she is brave,
she is daring,
she is fully and vibrantly alive.

Photo taken by my nephew, Daniel Bergin, of his daughter Kaya.