The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing. . .
        - Galway Kinnell, “Saint Francis and the Sow” from Three Books


. . .

Spring afternoon, late
North winds surge through the meadow, cold
Three quarters in shadow
Big trees along the edge
Block the sun.

There’s a trail
Where sun meets meadow
In the late afternoon.
Deer graze
Absorbing the last rays of heat
Close to the shadows
Where they disappear in an instant
When I step into their meadow
My work day over.

They consider me a fool, I suspect
Lost as I am in daydreams.
Inattentiveness equals stupidity
In their world.
     - Journal note.

. . .

Access other recent Art Journal posts, and books, poetry diary etc. from the prior twenty years of Heron Dance here.