Tag Archives: Gift
I Have come to a tree that has fallen and decayed
Nurturing the forest floor, leaving me with this gift,
This piece of hardened wood,
With traces of legends and resemblance.
I stare into this piece of healed branch,
That has lost its self-
A knot that shares its parent’s history
Before broken off— had grown many faces
Now left as a petrified knot generations ago;
Embossed with stories of a future prince,
From twig— many growing seasons before.
(Many times, I have spent turning, staring, reading this tree knot I kicked up, on one of my walks through the Open Gate Farm, do give it some attention. Oh, and the other side is just as imaginatively interesting. (Photo by: R.K. Garon))
The meal, whether earned or grown,
Prepared for yourself or by another,
Is one of the greatest gifts of all.
Intention that turns labor into delight,
Into anticipation, preparation,
Hurry, and timing for moments to memory.
Set on clean plates, in wonderful presentation
Framed with silverware and folded napkins.
Once eaten, will disappear into joy and satisfaction,
As all the greatest gifts, do happen.
In the reflection of sunrise light,
Tipping blades of grass with tiny crystal prisms,
Glitter all the colors of life—
I catch my shadow in stride, until each is one.
Both! (My shadow and I) Each, both in transition
Until we find the secret peace of the forest—
I am an early morning guest
Waking, yawning, knowing
How I will be received;
With scent of pines and wild blueberry dreams—
I will see you soon, my old friend.
Walking Rye Beach mid-morning, I got lucky. Swept against the rocks, by its fierce ocean parents, I kicked up in shallow sand, a whole, still intact, not easy to find on Rye’s rocky coast a half of a clam shell. Yup! I got lucky. Cause’ just up the street to Hampton Beach, they cost a pretty penny. I slipped it into my pocket.
When I got home, I brushed, with my fingers, any sand that would remind it, other than where it came from… other than where it is.
I did the same with the pocket I carried it. Turning it inside out and shaking everything free, every tidal grain of beach sand. Knowing I wouldn’t get it all.
I placed it on a table, on my porch. I heard, without ears, spirits, east, west, south, and north… applauding me for a gift well received.
Anyway, it sits on a small iron table next to my chair. And, once in a while, having my morning cigarette and coffee, or, my evening cigarette and tea, I often wonder where you went? Were you boiled, fried, or, slithered down someone’s or something’s throat? Or maybe, your shell was cast away with a porpoise’s kiss and lives as a child of Poseidon, dancing your life away to the contemporary bands of Atlantis.
I think of you… leaving this shell for me and my cigarette, whether through sacrifice or a beloved life. I still keep this gift, left for me— to find.
Hard life floating smoke
Seashell sits empty in bliss
Vacant minds across the kitchen table
Leaning on their elbows of time,
Understanding they are at the end of their lives,
Never thinking that there was space
Beyond what they have lived;
Life, was a distance passed in glorious moments.
“I’ll walk the dog. Put on your pajamas
And heat the water for tea.
I’ll peel you an orange when I get back.
Is it cold outside?”
“Yes, wear a hat.”