Third Day

From my window

I keep watching the snow —

it’s falling fast now,

large flakes swirling

forcefully from the south,

waves of it rushing

to catch up with itself,

covering footprints

as if it could fall fast enough

to outrun the coming rains

which will wash it all away

swift as it came

(I went out for long enough

to get my face wet

catching snowflakes in my mouth and hair —

I felt like I owed it

a longer homage

but I was also drawn

to the hearth fire.)

©Wendy Mulhern

January 15, 2020

Snow Drift

Day dawns slow and pretty

in the sifting, wistful snow —

sky dark, snow light,

air held in windless stasis

These days, our sense of purpose

can easily drift, though we walk

in the cold air and the snow crunch

and ground ourselves, as best we can,

among the winter trees

We will hold hands and remind each other

our work is not in things

we can tick off lists,

and our gain, from each day,

is somewhere deeper than here,

something we may see again sometime.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 14, 2020

Year’s End

We approach the year’s end

as uncelebrating

as every brown leaf

that blows along the ground,

as every squirrel that scuffles

among the leaves,

as every insect sleeping in its dried up stalk,

as all the crows that have gone home by now

It’s just one day into the next,

the rain, the fog, the winter light,

the stillness of the evening,

the morning’s breath

In other times, in other energies,

we made a mark here,

found some significance,

some grand design for change,

but this time round we’re flying low,

conserving strength,

hugging the curve of darkness

till the light returns.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 31, 2019

Little Window

And after the thick of the storm,

like a little blue window

amid the clouds rolling and roiling —

a window that may disappear

many times before the clouds clear

and blue displays its winning infinite —

Somewhere before the dark has fully ended,

that blue window of truth

will give you hope,

and the storm’s narrative

will slowly cease to matter,

its irrelevance apparent as it dissipates,

and you can hold on,

for once you’ve seen it,

you won’t believe in darkness anymore.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 1, 2019

Allowed

There is a place for tears,

there is a place

for turning around three times

and lying down,

there is a place for curling up

and waiting for the inner heave to stop

The comfort rises up around me

like soft flames from the coals,

cradles me, reminds me

this warmth is always at hand

Maybe we’re allowed

to have a soft day sometimes,

to go back to bed, for a while,

in the afternoon,

to do about as much work

as the sun did today,

showing up for about an hour

between fog and day’s end.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 6, 2019

Storm Ride

The weather came through fast —

one moment, charming warm sun,

the next, a rolling dark cloud,

a strong cold wind,

rain visible across the valley,

trees on the east hill

making a rushing sound

The task we were doing

in peaceful progression

became urgent, rain rolling down 

the roof we were trying to cover,

ladders getting muddy, footing slippery

I rode the rush of excitement

through the storm,

not minding the wet and the cold

or the need to persist with our task until done,

since we’d be there to see and to feel it.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 3, 2019

Between the rains

The rain has given us a break —

we work in silence,

finding it more harmonious

than the questions and projections

that would otherwise fill up the space

No need to annoy each other,

no need to talk about the things we cannot know.

After the window closes,

we’ll do the next thing that makes sense,

taking in the necessary factors

that will reveal themselves by then.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 16, 2019

A New Day

Day dawns,

rain gone

(if for a moment)

sun flirts with wind,

clouds glint and grin

We free a dove

that trapped itself

in our young cherry tree’s enclosure,

I try the spirits

and today it’s clearer

whence they hail

These things do not depend

on weather, or on any gods

society has shaped and propped up,

they don’t depend on how we felt

or what we said and did

It is the Spirit

that sustains us,

breathing what we are

into our consciousness,

planting the clarity of our cause

into our frames.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 10, 2019

Rainy

I let myself fill up with rain.

It was an indulgence,

not something to sustain,

not something I have time for

in the day to day,

while the various buckets

we put under leaks

register their irregular

pticks and clangs and taps,

and hope seems to be leaking, too

We will get through this —

our source of strength does not depend

on all things rosy.

It will show itself steady,

well able to overcome

both internal and external rain.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 9, 2019

Bending

The straight line of our intent

begins to meet the season’s curve —

bracken fern starting to turn,

and trees along the river

Garden plants have given up,

the coming rain too late,

other factors we can’t see

informing them

their time of growth is over

No longer can we count on

stretches of long, sunny days —

they shorten, and the rains

begin to take their place

We will bend, because we have to,

we will find a way,

our intent will weave itself in,

for the circle belongs to us, too.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 8, 2019

Watching the Weather

Standing under the porch roof

I aimed my camera

and tried to catch a lightening bolt

I failed, though I saw five of them

— lack of faith, perhaps,

in my ability, or in the likelihood

that it would strike again

Wind brought the smell of rain

(though it rained little)

and relief, if for the moment,

from the sultry stillness

and the thickness

of the thunder-laden air

To have a roof over our heads

is cause for gratitude,

which marks how far we’ve come

and gives a standpoint from which

we can receive more.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 5, 2019

Jumping In

Here we are

playing double dutch

with the rain,

looking for a place to jump in,

feeling confounded

though not yet wet

Eventually we’ll guess

there’s nothing to be gained

by waiting inside

delaying our move —

wetness is, after all,

temporary, as also,

though less obviously,

is mud.

©Wendy Mulhern

April 10, 2019

I learned today

I learned today

that ice can look like sand

at least to me,

but that it won’t hold me up,

and winter water

up to the knee

is not that bad

And sometimes a surprise step

into the drink

can serve to reset everything,

redeeming a dragged down day,

making me, and those I walk with,

feel holy.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 3, 2019

Changes

The ice can go

as quickly as it came,

strong wind from the south

making waves, sending them

undulating under,

blowing shallow ripples over,

till it all washed ashore

to clink against the chunks of it

that still remained

I was surprised by the speed

that the spirited day 

could change everything, 

or at least this one thing

that seemed so solid,

holding up rocks

only an hour before.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 2, 2019

Arctic Chill

Days like this

bring out the memory

of hibernation. We take naps

on the couch, we wake up

to mammalian smells

and dark that fell

while we were sleeping

Our brief trips outside

have sweetened the warmth

of our dwelling,

the fire speaks to us

in familiar tongues.

©Wendy Mulhern

January 31, 2019

Reprieve

The deeply welcome smell of rain,

the fine mist bringing the smoke down,

a heartfelt breathing of relief

inhaled together by the whole town

We breathe in gratitude,

it feels so easy 

to find it, and our brightness

when the air is clear —

for now it’s plenty

to keep us happy,

to catch the vision of our peace

and hold it here.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 23, 2018

Smoke in Seattle

We became subdued

as sun through smoke,

our motions neither radiant nor bright,

we found ourselves waiting

for rain, for wind, for night

but there was nothing, no change in sight

I didn’t want to see the trees die,

I didn’t want us to be cooked, slowly or rapidly,

I still believe

that this is all a story

and we will close the book and walk away.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 21, 2018

Smoke Days

Hot smoky wind

brings news of distant fires,

baking sun peers through the haze,

only slightly softened

Trees reach deep for liquid,

we, too, sustain ourselves

with deep cool water from our well.

Turkeys wander through the woods

undisturbed by heat and smoke.

What changes will we weather?

What weather will we change?

©Wendy Mulhern

August 9, 2018

Send my roots down

Send my roots down

where they’ve never reached before —

the land is arid,

the former streams are dry

Send my roots down

to the hidden corridors

protecting the secret,

connecting the trees

Let the ancient, strong alliance,

feeding everything that touches in,

be what sustains me,

be what grows my trunk 

and greens my limbs

Send my roots down —

it’s a long drought on the surface,

but here underneath,

we’ll share the streams.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 29, 2018

In this heat

I think of

streams in the desert,

water to a thirsty land,

my soul longs for

something deeper than survival,

something that acknowledges

what holds us together

is richer and more comprehensive

than all these factors

and won’t allow us

to shrivel and die in the heat

but provides, from within,

that which makes us thrive.

©Wendy Mulhern

July 25, 2018