Day’s Report

The wind began to blow cold

though the day was still sunny,

and we delayed our work

and then had to persist

through windblown bands

of overcast and sun,

and after awhile

it felt good and fresh to be working

And then it started to rain 

and it started to get dark

and we kept working

till the plants were planted

and deer-protected —

less than we’d hoped

but enough to be satisfied.

When we had dried off

and started a fire

and stoked it till the cabin warmed up,

and scrounged some food

and tended to the water

we were too tired

to do anything else.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 28, 2020

Precursor

The birds seemed as happy as we were

for the return to the land,

for the spring

or its precursor,

the time of prodigious effort

we can now set to,

the time for making home

and for noticing

that it’s here.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 24, 2020

My Days

What I call me

has gotten used to

the act of work,

the fact of traveling

My breath has learned

how to continue steady,

my arms and hands

have learned to move ready,

my mind is quiet in the awe

of what is being shown

step by step, goal by goal,

poem by poem.

©Wendy Mulhern

December 12, 2019

Closure

The prospect of departure

is like wood settling in to the fire,

causing a quickening of flames —

our actions burn warmer

though there is less fuel

to work with

We will do what we can

and leave when we have to.

There is power and comfort

in closure.

We’ll savor the silence

before the next act.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 21, 2019

Bed of Acceptance

At the end of our day,

size of remaining tasks notwithstanding,

we have to acknowledge

what was accomplished —

two vehicles saved

from the ravages of mice

(at least for now)

and some flickers of clarity

rising up in the firelight

as we considered

our past and future course

Now I can hold you

in the love that offers

a bed of acceptance

like coals hold the wood in the fire —

whatever you may think of your life

can be transmuted, offered up as warmth,

rendered translucent in the service

of that which glorifies us all.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 19, 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

Softening

The softness of the day at three

is a fine gift — softness of wind,

warmth from the sun,

a softening of urgency

to get things done,

a sense of progress,

a sense that our release,

while not in sight as yet,

could come some day.

©Wendy Mulhern

November 3, 2019

Us in the morning

You: What are you thinking about?

Me: Same thing I always —

You: Oh, God …

Me: That’s exactly right

You: And me, I’m thinking about 

what I always think about, too …

(a pause, we snuggle in)

…the house — how to build it,

what to do next

The wonder of it is

that we can come together,

or almost — good enough

to keep the project going

day after week after year.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 17, 2019

The Work Progresses

Subtly, the palette changes —

bracken ferns to brown,

grasses back to green,

gold and orange along the river,

water vapor’s silver sheen

We raced the rain

all day yesterday

while the sun slowly made room

for more and more clouds

and the cat hunted happy in the field

and the needed tasks got done

And this morning,

rain holding off for just a while,

you added final touches

so now we can look up

and see the colors

and watch the rain.

©Wendy Mulhern

October 16, 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

Building

We go each day to the house

to see how we will be built,

what skills and insight, what endurance

will arise in us to meet the day’s demands

For we do not come static

to any task, nor do we come

with a collected stash of virtue

to test ourselves against what is required

We come to grow, we come to change,

we come to learn,

we come to be made new,

to be transformed,

and more than what we make

with wood and nails and stone,

this will be our building,

this will be our home.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 24, 2019

Circuitous

Well, a straight path

to any goal

is either an illusion,

or the path and goal

were made by someone else,

and so the goal itself

is really not a goal

We must be kind

both to ourselves and anyone who’s striving —

no one arrives without

what could be seen as setbacks —

there probably was really not

a better way to go,

and where we went

(and where they went)

is also probably

not what it looks like

to anyone observing from outside

That’s what I tell myself

about our roof —

so many storms, so many leaks,

so many temporary measures

which made their own troubles,

until we finally — let’s hope it’s sometime soon —

arrive at where our house is safe and dry.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 23, 2019

Necessities

I didn’t brush my teeth last night,

didn’t write a poem either —

daily necessities overridden

by the black rolling of roof underlayment

racing against darkness and the predicted rain,

and no motivation to cook by lantern light

and all the restaurants closed or far away

I didn’t write a poem last night

or brush my teeth either —

just crawled in bed,

but all is well —

everything is still here in the morning.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 22, 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

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

At the work site

How does it feel

to be a crayon among nails?

Your purpose distinct

but immeasurably far

from the other ones sharing the pocket

Your substance, which never could manage

to do what a nail does,

is suited for doing a thing that they never could do —

they will sink into wood and remain there,

you’ll leave your mark on the surface and stay where you are

There will be times

when the hand reaches in

and picks out the nails one by one,

but at other times,

it will reach through their sharpness

leaving them, searching for you.

©Wendy Mulhern

September 1, 2019

Still

In the evening the wind stills,

and the work, though it continues till dusk,

is quieter — no thrum of generator,

no flap of windblown plastic,

just the intermittent buzz

of the skill saw, and the thunk

of extra rafter tail hitting the dirt

Later, we, too, will be still,

still in the aftermath of work,

still hefting lumber in our dreams.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 25, 2019

A Book

A book is growing in me like a child.

It bumps against my insides

from time to time

I hum to it

when I think to,

I settle into the gait

of its weight

I sense the course of its development,

chapters like ears of corn,

words like the kernels 

Things remain mysterious,

like how it will all come together —

it isn’t mine to pry the answers out

A book is growing in me

like a poem. It will come out

when it’s ready.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 22, 2019

In the course of things

Turns out it’s good

for wind to blow through the house,

for windows to be open

I freed a hummingbird today

from plastic we had placed to keep out rain —

it fled my hands

and so got further stuck

until I broke the sheet away

and it escaped

The swallows still fly in and out,

but with the windows covered,

they got confused —

one had to make a stop inside,

perched on a rafter

before it could complete its outward swoop

Yes, we’re in a race against the weather,

but the game has its own rules —

apparently, for now, we need to make room

for others to play.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 12, 2019

Resting

We settle ourselves back

into our closer orbit,

we give ourselves permission

for a moment’s rest

It has been work, it has been growth,

it’s been excitement —

we were willing, we were driven,

we pushed ourselves beyond our edge

Now we return —

it may be just a very short pause

before resuming our stalwart pace —

for now we’ll take the time

to be still,

take time to drink

from the pool of grace.

©Wendy Mulhern

August 11, 2019