Day: February 23, 2015

I have never liked Roses, a snooty flower,
I thought, an English garden cottage flower,

a pain-in-the-neck  and needy flower,

a temperamental and delicate thing.

This week, someone sent a Rose into my house,

and the Rose settled in,

then sniffed at me in the afternoon light,

“well, I don’t care for you either, silly man,” she said,

“you are nothing much to look at yourself,

you know nothing about flowers, you just chase

after your colors like some drunk in a bar looking for whiskey.”

Perhaps it is time to reconsider one another,  she said,

you have no taste,

and I have little time.

Then she turned towards the fading sun in the window,

waiting for my answer She spoke again:

“Now is the time to understand that all of your ideas about beauty,

of right and wrong are just toys for the crib, the playthings of a child.

I am a divine envoy, the Beloved and the Holy One

has written a sacred message on my petal, only the

wise can see it. You, I am sure, are blind.”

Tell me, old man, she continued, more reflectively,

“why do you still throw stones

at your own heart, what voice inside of you stirs

you to anger and fear and ignorance?

How can you be so old and know so little?

Now, at last, is the season for you to know,

once and for all, that every single thing you

think and do and see and write is sacred.”

Including me, she said,

with a flourish.

All right, I said,

I wish to live in love and truth.

There is nothing but Grace.

 

A pasture is a spiritual place for me, especially when there is an apple tree, the morning sun, and green grass.

Portrait of Ma and twins. Ma died last autumn on the left, and Jake, on the left, died shortly before her. This is the nature and tempo on the farm, comings and goings, life and death, sadness, loss and great joy. Life itself. The farm is a great teacher, I have learned so much.

We returned this morning from our one-day retreat to our favorite in in Vermont, they know us there – we had our honeymoon and most anniversaries there, we get our favorite room with a big bathtub, we just needed a break from our Arctic winter, and it was a beautiful thing to do. Sunday nights the rates are low, the food was wonderful – rainbow trout – we slept, walked up a steep hill, read, loved one another, we took a deep breath and are counting down to warmer, saner, less dramatic weather.

It feels like family to us there, only better and safer. It is so comfortable and familiar, this has always been a place for us to rest and celebrate our love, a miracle to me, I hope for Maria. Love is the best tonic for almost anything, including this Siberian winter. We got home just in time to meet the newest arctic cold front – cold and windy – and while there is much snow left in the forecast, not big snow, I don’t think, just the days-long barrage we are used to. Red was happy to see us, he was alone in the house without other dogs for the first time, but he was with Deb Foster, and the two of them seem to have a sweet time together.

Flo paid no attention to either of us when we came in, of course, an Minnie is in the dark basement where she loves to spend her days, a barn cat still. I took some flowers off of the windowsill and took them out to the pasture to photograph them, I like the juxtaposition of flowers and warmth against the oddly barren landscape.

We are re-charged, taking a deep breath, we had to shovel our way into the back door, of course. We were weary and had winter heads. This is better. But winter is losing it’s grip, even if it has a few more bites in it, winter is leaving my head and my state of mind. This afternoon, work on my book, a trek to the gym. Even though it is barely visible, home is still better than any other place I got. But I think I am going to NYC next Sunday to join the rally in Central Park for the New York Carriage Horses – 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Maria wants to come also.