Spirited

Here on the ground

the days are still painted

with enough grace

to fill any heart that’s present

We may not be flying

in the way we sense we someday will,

but we can feel high

in the confluence of skill and opportunity,

of character and connection,

of sun and scent and wind

and the myriad gifts of the hour.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 8, 2018

February

February begins to grant

the gift of longer days,

a swing of warmth along the arc

where the sun promenades

But be aware, it still is known as winter

and can dip there, sending down ice

from brilliant frigid stars,

freezing the pipes,

keeping us on guard.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 7, 2018

Trifles

I place myself within the demographic

which insists there is no such thing —

there are many of us here,

defying all kinds of norms,

blind, no doubt,

to all our glaring similarities

I imagine there are others

who yearn to fit precisely in some group,

who find comfort in belonging

even in a spectrum

Ah, how I squandered moments

back at the cafe´, observing others,

placing them in boxes

where they certainly don’t fit.

Now, at sun’s last light, the geese

take up their chorus across the field,

surely more attuned

than I have been.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 6, 2018

Revelation

Here where we’re all trying

to find the point of clarity

where understanding crests the moment

like rays of dawn

Here where we’re trying

to find that one focus

that burns through all the layers

of middling plausibility

to be the one imperative

defining us

Here we will receive

the incremental wage

that comes from steady effort.

Imperceptibly, our views will clear

until at last we notice

we’re no longer waiting

for that brilliant flash —

we’ll find ourselves here

already gently pooled in light.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 5, 2018

Notes from Today

Ravens converse, traversing the valley,

clouds converge, crossing the sky,

in the close stillness of here and now

many things live hidden

A mind can be populated by opinions —

eyes look out, see only

what is set upon their curtains,

whole worlds can roll by unseen

but veils are sometimes lifted

The industry of mice, the vibrancy

of every effort creatures make

to be themselves, to thrive,

points to the uncounted ever-presence

resting, firm and gentle, on our days

Sun will grace us all —

no blinds, ultimately, close off our vision.

We will see the opening of comprehension

of how we’re woven, tenderly,

into our place.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 4, 2018

Lattice Work

And I am suddenly

looking through the lattice work

of what I had intensely studied,

seeing new views, an opening out in the distance,

the way the structured pattern frames

things it doesn’t even touch,

the way those things

have a life of their own,

dimension and movement far beyond

the frame through which I view them,

a frame which, just a glance before,

I had thought was the only thing to look at.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 2, 2018

Merging Light

I like the suspended feeling

of early evening

when my reflection merges

with the yard outside —

I take form among the shrubs,

a tree grows out of the piano

The rain drips down outside,

inside, the heater clicks,

the refrigerator sings

Yesterday, in the reflection

of the back door through the front window,

I saw my husband appear

in the space that had framed

the oak across the street

but could also project

a ghostly image

of someone in the back yard.

©Wendy Mulhern

February 1, 2018