Wintery-spring poetry time…

It’s still feeling like winter here in the Berkshires. Not enough green, or warmth, or flowers. But I keep writing and sending thoughts for the reasons I wait and anticipate the coming of color from under a buff beige blanket. Why do you stay? 

Why I Stay- (based on a line from Morgan Farley’s poem of the same name) by Lori Evans

Why I stay, because spring is coming and sunshine and flowers,
Because it’s not really a choice, I am here with nowhere else to go.
I stay for horses, for romance, for beauty and beavers,
For cowboys and evergreens and mountain streams.
I stay for stars in a lightless sky and the hope of seeing the northern lights.

I stay for love, for daughters and adopted sons and sisters and ukuleles,
Because the hope of more adventure is within my soul always beating.
Why I stay has nothing to do with deeds and everything to do with possibility,
The anguish and joy equal in their coming and going.

I stay for the pizza and Netflix and the walk to the bookstore,
For the smile in a puppy’s tail wiggle that makes mine join in.
Puppies! I stay for puppies and kittens and pumpkins carved by kids, 
And painting, and color. 

I stay for color! For washing everything
In color, in rainbow butterflies of fabric and clothing,
That makes me feel gorgeous and sassy and bold.

I stay to be bold, to find firmness in my mind and my flabby body, for breath,
And aspiration and a person I might help and brighten.
I stay for words that can lighten a load and frighten the gloom from the door
That’s shut.

Why I stay, to say, “HEY! You know me—we met ten years ago and look
At us now!” I stay for surprises like inside a Kinder egg, little bright toys
Of delight from unexpected corners. A note from a student,
A gift from the wind, a tail slap from a beaver saying,
“Here I am, wait for me, don’t go yet, I want to see you.”

I stay to be seen.

Dinner with Alfred…

In the structure of my days I find myself and lose myself. I find myself on the blank page as I scurry the pencil around the shapes of words. Words that beckon to the woods, the ponds, the stars, the sky reflecting pool…and this week to Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary, ten minutes from my home. The park is swirling with paths, ponds, birds and wildlife. The ponds are decorated with beaver huts, gnawed trees in evidence as they work to reinforce their homes for the winter. Bright green ferns are sprinkled amidst shy mushrooms and purple flowers are shining here and there. Yesterday bright pinkish-red prickly bushes flamed out of a brown cattail backdrop.

As I tripped among the tree rooted path around a beautiful calm pond I kept thinking, “Where are all the beavers that make these intricate huts out of twigs, that chew down these huge trees with their little grinding teeth?” I want to see a beaver! I have lived here fifteen years and have seen only two in that time, swimming in a lake far from shore.

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Echoes of my mind…

After spending a week writing and being in the presence of twenty-one amazing women in the Taos high desert I  am working my way back across the country through Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee to North Carolina where I will hole up, like an outlaw, with my daughter for a few days.

Things I ponder on the road at 80 mph…

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Tiptoeing the backroads to Taos…

I am on my way to Taos, New Mexico from Massachusetts. I don’t have the time to stay more than one night at any given place but I also want to experience slices of life along the way. Freeway hotels, though convenient do not speak to me of neighborhoods, animals, and family, so I choose to drive off the thruways and find places to stay away from the conveniences of fast food and cookie cutter hotel rooms.

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White Mountains or bust…

This trip in the spring almost didn’t happen. I used Hotel Tonight to make an online reservation at a New Hampshire hotel and the morning I was to leave for my two days of bliss, packed suitcase by the door, I thought I better call the hotel and make sure they had my room reservation. You guessed it, they had no record of my name or room. My cat paced around the suitcase worried about my departure while I spent the next three hours rebooking, cancelling, waiting on hold to get to real people to tell me what the issue was. After all was said and done Hotel Tonight had cancelled my reservation because the hotel I booked would not honor their reservation for some reason. They did NOT email or inform me of this important information or in any way let me know this was happening, so I would have shown up after five hours of driving, only to be turned away. And now I had to find a new place to stay under pressure as the clock ticked my vacation away. Hotel Tonight refunded the charge of my non-existent reservation (5-8 days later mind you) and gave me a half-hearted apology. This was so unacceptable and such a rotten way to start a vacation, that I will never book with them again. So be warned, book direct and save yourself the hassle. 

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Midday mushrumps…

It was a memorable moment when I heard a room full of 4th graders giggle as they listened to Prospero from Shakespeare’s The Tempest address the elves that make “midnight mushrumps.” It does sound funny, mushrumps, or mushrooms to the uninitiated. In spite of the sound they are certainly one of those growths that are unusual and mystical to me. They conjure fairies, gnomes and sprites as well as pipe-smoking caterpillars.

Today I saw more mushrumps growing in the wild than I have in my entire life. I took a walk around Benedict Pond, my old friend that has inspired many of my blogs (On Benedict Pond). I don’t usually get to trip around the pond in summertime when I am at my busiest acting and teaching, so I have missed the mushroom extravaganza until now. Continue reading

The gnome and the porcupine…

I see the details. The small pebble, the tiny leaf, the surprise 1.5” gnome some magical person planted along the forest trail. I may not always see the big picture while I’m peering at minutiae, but that’s ok. There are plenty of wide-angle views out there. I have written about this before, but my life is charmed. Things happen to me that cause such heart stopping delight and I seem to get more than my share of these moments.

This week I sauntered upon two. The gnome and the porcupine… Continue reading

Saddle up, it’s going to be a wet, bumpy ride…

As “my” cabbages continue to grow in the woods, my eyes are drawn up to the trees. Maybe it’s because I am listening to The Lord of the Rings audio book and the endearing antics of hobbits in the forest of Fangorn. I’ve always loved trees but I am seeing new identities in the bark and stumps today, a whale, an infinity sign, and many, many images of the letter Y. Interesting to ponder the “Y” or WHY? Continue reading

Of cabbages and kings…

 

I continue on from my previous blog to watch the skunk cabbage transform in the Northeast. It completely changes and opens up it’s thick, protective rubbery skin to release beautiful green leaves. It’s not smelling like skunk yet, so I am awaiting that event with tempered enthusiasm. Continue reading