In Feathered Light

Monday Morning Musings:

The moon hums and the sun sings,
and feathered things with outstretched wings
soar into the light

dazzling white, the egrets’ flight,
the eagles’ glide, a majestic sight
above my head

and down below, the scent of dead
attract the vulture’s blooded head—
but even they fly

with graceful beauty in the sky
circling round—hello, goodbye—
life comes and goes

This cormorant spent several days in this spot.
Oh, Hello!

the questions everybody knows,
and none can answer, I suppose
there’s beauty in that, too–

science can tell us why the sky is blue,
yet perceiving it, is that new?
Do we name things so that we see–

or does sight come, and we feel free–
And still, we disagree
about the color of the sea,

fields of grain, and climbing vines
lost to asphalt, modern signs
of progress made,

decisions that now cascade,
a waterfall, decisions weighed
spinning in retrograde, still we shine

in setting sun, sipping wine,
fruits of field and vine,
talking as time slow-walks–

a paradox—the universe’s sleight–
time, truth, the beauty of the feathered light.

Morning— Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

We went to Blue Cork Winery in Williamstown, NJ this past week, where our daughter gave a talk—a brief history of sangria–and then guided us through making our own using a white and red base they supplied, along with fruit and juices. It was a fun event, and of course we bought a bottle of wine to take home, too.
I’m still finishing that chapter, so I apologize for my slow response time here. Also, I’m hosting dVerse Poetics tomorrow.

We Wait for Magic

Monday Morning Musings:

Almost always,
magic appears in an unexpected blink
a deer-tail flash, a momentary glimmer, a pop of color
against the grey—

Spring Reflections ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

feathered with goose down, streaked with heron blue and crow black
and there– the gosling gold tumbles amidst spring green.

The sun’s red and golden steeds gallop high, over
the cold, north wind, rippling waves, scattering seeds—

and new life grows. Bud to flowers, acorn to oak—
eggs hatch and children grow. A new harvest, a new vintage–
we toast the departed, throw a stone in river, a rock in a fire—
remember what was, cherish what is now— reflect and

3D Goose Reflection. ©️Merril D. Smith

watch for color in the grey, listen to the wind sigh, and mockingbird sing,
find beauty in each day, and wonder why, some cannot bring
hope or joy, but only want to destroy—still you cling

to thoughts of young who fling away old terms of hate
as seasons pass, we love, lose, die, create, accelerate—
and for nature or fate, we wait.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. We went to Blue Cork Winery in Williamstown, where our daughter works part-time. We enjoyed a Mother’s Day brunch. Unfortunately, it was cold, and then it rained. I wore several layers of clothing. Not the most flattering photos. 😀

Merril’s Movie/Theater Club: We streamed No Child (Arden Theater, Philadelphia). It was a wonderful performance by Taysha Marie Canales, who became all the characters in this play about a teaching drama artist at a school in the Bronx. We also streamed Nomadland, starring Frances McDormand. The movie received several awards this year, including one for McDormand and also director Chloé Zhao. We both enjoyed it very much—it’s a beautifully filmed movie that makes you think about what you have and what others live without, as well as what it’s like to be a “nomad,” the life McDormand’s character adopts, living out of her van as she travels and works. Trailer here.

Snowflakes and Time

img_1130

“Every snowflake has an infinite beauty which is enhanced by knowledge that the investigator will, in all probability, never find another exactly like it.”

Wilson Bentley

IMG_5939

Beneath a frantic cry

a need for love

is carried on the wind

over a thousand summers

through winter storms of snow and ice,

the moon hums

***

There is no present the man says,

only past and future,

no division between beach and sea,

only water and sand

both existing together.

 

“In physics there’s no arrow of time.”

In a place beyond our beyond

the past might be the future,

perhaps time existed

before our universe.

 

My toddler daughter once asked

“Do you remember when I was in your belly

and I hiccupped and that made you laugh?”

A conversation that she no longer remembers,

but that I still do—

 

that moment in time

frozen—no–

like a movie in my mind—

the improbable (could she have remembered?),

the reality

 

of mothers and daughters

over and over through time

we’ve moved my mother to a new facility–

she is exhausted,

she is exhausting.

It is an exhausting week.

Time seems to work differently,

dragging, then suddenly gone.

The world is wind and clouds

I am housebound–

by work

not trapped–

but constrained by deadlines

and circumstances

and January grey.

 

IMG_5960

The snowstorm-that-isn’t comes

and goes–

nevertheless, I cook and bake–

comfort food, candles, and wine

while we watch the trapped Icelandic town

caught by weather and geography,

old grievances and new politics.

The world is weary everywhere

trapped by hate,

mired in ignorance.

 

My daughter says there’s a good musician here,

if you’re not doing anything today?

We’re not

and we go

listen to music, drink some wine–

 

It’s an afternoon out

but inside—away from the wind—

a moment in time, different,

as each snowflake, and ephemeral

but carrying its unique beauty in our memories

 

through time

(whatever that may be).

 

IMG_5959

 

It’s been a strange week with moving mom and cleaning out her old apartment. While driving, we listened to an episode of the Ted Radio Hour, Episode “Shifting Time,” first broadcast in 2015.

We’re watching an Icelandic mystery series called Trapped. We’re almost finished with the first season, and we’re enjoying it.

For Us All

Monday Morning Musings:

“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.”

―Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

“Of what is past, or passing, or to come.”

–W.B. Yeats, “Sailing to Byzantium”

 

IMG_3675

A breeze drifts from blushing sky,

Robin sings reveille, a new day wakes

carrying time’s perfume,

a scent of days blended over and over

in a soft voice

the woman asks the day

and wonders where time has gone,

but it is still here—

she gazes through a window,

a young woman looks back

***

In these last days of August

as summer goes a-rambling,

and we go scrambling–

 

in this odd uneven time

of thunderstorms and brilliant sun

we see summer almost done

 

when temperatures fall,

as do a few leaves,

but it deceives

 

we’ll have heat rise again,

even as vultures soar

high above the shore

and insects skitter

and crawl–

but that’s not all

IMG_3852

Cicada-eating wasp

Great Horned Caterpillar

Great Horned Caterpillar at Red Bank Battlefield, NJ

 

we see as we walk

in parks and city streets,

hearing the beats

 

of different drums

people, creatures, machines strum

and hum, but come

 

see fountains glittering

with diamond droplets flying

and spirits sighing

Swann Memorial Fountain Glittering in the Sun, Philadelphia

as they dance to the sky

where sun-stippled,

and wind-rippled

 

they form clouds

that cross the far expanse

of blue, and dance

IMG_3982

into the night

and daughters come with smiles

across the miles

 

to visit. We drink wine

on a beautiful day

wishing days like this would stay

Wine Down Summer Wine Festival, Riverwinds, NJ 2019

 

 

and winter never come.

When flowers and bugs will die

and Persephone in darkness sigh

 

for light and mother-love.

But in the now we celebrate–

never too late, to grab a plate

 

to dine and drink

to talk

to walk

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

to give heart-felt wishes

to laughs and kisses

to be happy for all of this

 

And so,

on her 97th birthday I write:

“On this day,

this is what I wish for you–

 

the love in memories,

the love in now.”

 

And for us all

the moon hums a lullaby,

a wish for love and gentle goodbyes.

IMG_4059

I went a bit overboard with photos, but my mom turned 97 this weekend. Since a few weeks ago, we thought she wouldn’t reach this event, it was extra-special. Older daughter came from Massachusetts, and we went to a wine festival, then visited her sister at her new part-time job at Blue Cork Winery. Then yesterday was my mom’s party. For once, the weather cooperated, too–what a beautiful weekend!