In Between

In between the cracks
   where the wood doesn’t meet
   …that’s where it fell.
In the dust and the crumbs,
   there it sat like a seed.
Unnoticed the loss
   In the rush and the dark.
In between time,
   Unseen was this place.
Till necessity called.

In between planting and harvest,
In between the speaking and silence,
   between the birthing and dying,
   and the crying and laughing.
A place is discovered that is filled
   …with living.
A space with a spark,
   …in between all the others.
A place in between,
   where the seeds that have fallen
   …take root and are found
   in the prospect of being.


Weathered Barns

The weathered boards of barns
   that have withstood the wind,
      …waiting for another harvest,
         … another planting.

But tilted now, shifted,
   having been pushed for so long,
      …the roofs settling,
         …into their feet.

Their story told,
   and work long finished,
      …they become the seed,
         …to imagine what has been.


March is so fickle and uncommitted.  I wrote this a couple of years ago and it most certainly applies to our midwestern week.

Twilight cold
Sifting snow
Sifting snow.

Blizzard wind
Singing pines
Sifting snow in the
Twilight cold

Crested drifts
Shifting snow
Blizzard wind in the
Twilight cold

Quiet twilight
Cold wind blowing
Blizzard singing in the
Sifting cold

We shoveled snow all day and I wondered how we will do it when we’re eighty.
Eighty is not old unless you’re shoveling snow.  Last night I went for a walk in the
blizzard over to the river.  All I could hear was the wind until I came to the pine trees.
They made a beautiful musical tone.  I’d never heard it before.  The snow was “sifting”
off of the rooftops.  It was very beautiful.  I’m glad I walked.

The Labyrinth

The sun sets to the toil of the day
So I walk the labyrinth
of this freshly furrowed clay.
Each ridge and valley
…quiet in its readiness
……plowed and dark
……alive and resting.
So straight
and narrow the corridor
that lays open to this breeze
ready for the seed.
I cross the ribbons of this field
that were neatly laid in prayer.
I cross in twilight
this prayer
…that’s written in the earth.