Tag: Nature

Myrtle Dance

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment 
The night before the full
moon, I make plans. A 
Beltane fire will be lit, wine,
the remembrance of
the light within and
a solemn bow to all that 
grows and causes
growth.

I will journal and cut
cords, chant harm ye
none under my breath,
simmer cinnamon and
cloves, rosemary and orange
in a cast iron pot to
invoke health, prosperity,
and all goodness.

I will sing to the moon, 
inviting the crepe myrtles I 
prune and water 
during the day to 
recognize me in this 
new light. I will get
tipsy on the wine, perhaps
even dance round the 
myrtles believing they
dance with me.

I will charge my crystals
and myself under the light 
of the grandmother.
The dewy night will feel
strange on my skin until
I remember I belong to it.

My wife looks up from her
iPad just long enough
to remind me that our
godson’s birthday dinner is
tomorrow night.  

The wine will save.
The moon will understand. 

The myrtles may still dance though.

Safe Space

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

When I feed the birds, I talk
to set them at ease.
I know they’re somewhere in
the trees, though unseen,
watching me walk to the
shed, pull out the bag
of black oil sunflower seeds,
lug It to the mimosa tree
with the multiple trunks
and multiple feeders.

Helloo, birdies!  I know you’re
watching me.  I’m filling up
your pantries.  Eat well and
take care of your babies.

I wonder if they’ll ever be
used to me. Waiting for
dinner a little closer, giving
me a wink, landing on my
shoulder if I stand still
enough. Or are they
smarter than us? Do
they innately know that
predators often offer
treats?

Helloo, birdies! Watch from
wherever feels safe. I’ll still fill
the pantries.  Eat well, 
take care of babies, and
listen to your instincts.

The safest spaces never push. 

I Love

~ Deb ~ 2 Comments 
I’m never worried that the
squirrels will eat my
birdseed. 
Maybe it’s squirrel seed. 
Why would I use the gas and 
spend the money to
haul home feed for
one species while wishing to 
shoo away another? 

I love nature, not just birds. 

I’ve never worried that the
ants will find the 
hummingbird cocktail.
It’s sugar — what’s not to love?
Why would I fill the glass bulb and
screw on the base and
hang it upside down for
the bumblebirds and not let
the workers have a donut? 

I love life, not just the pretty kind. 

I’ve never worried that other
people will benefit from the 
rights I fight for. 
We’re all in this time together. 
Why would I carry a sign and
march down the street chanting
words of resistance and equality
and not want every body to
experience justice? 

I love freedom, not just mine.

Love’s Labors

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment 
I love the spring visit to the 
garden center. 
Marigolds, knock-out roses, and
ten bags of mulch in the 
bed of the truck.
Plus birdseed, potting soil, a
Japanese pencil holly. 

Labors of love feed, create, cultivate.
Like a friend listening without judgment,
a teacher explaining one more time,
a meal cooked for others,
a song written to remind us again
of love. 

Did I? 

I dig a hole and let the thought
leaf out.
Did I love enough? 

How many times I missed a chance
to forgive or ignore
a slight or let go. 
But in my heart’s drought,
did I sometimes water pain with
compassion? 
Did I seed the world with life?

Do I? 

I set the holly into the hole,
straighten it, fill in
around the sides of the
root ball with soil I
soften to crumbles in my
fingers. 

“I hope you’re happy here,” 
I say. “I hope I’ve picked a 
good spot and dug a 
good hole. I hope you get
everything you need to 
thrive."

Then I rise from my knees, 
slower than in years past, but
so much more certain of 
love and what it can grow.