Sunday, June 19, 2016

Listen to the Voice Within

Photo of one of my white rock hens by John Ewing


Can Flowers Change Your Life? XIII. March 13, 2016

the Universe is sending light to me, sanctioning 
what I write, what I do, and even who I am. 
Can Flowers Change Your Life? IV.

Begin at the beginning.  Care
for ourselves and others.  Listen to
the voice within.  The more we listen,
the more we hear.  The work grows
harder, but the rewards come faster.
Other people’s love and nurturing
now sustain me.  Everything I’m doing
helps the good in that ongoing earthly
war between the good and the evil.
Let me be thankful and acquiesce.  
Can Flowers Change Your Life? VII.

Yes, I have too many gifts, but
I see now how not one will be wasted.
Everything I am and feel and do is 
part of this side of my watershed.  
I move down into the valley, but I
know whatever comes to meet me
will be part of the good I’m here to do.
All I need is patience and to pay close
attention.  The flowers that surround me
promise all will be well. 
Can Flowers Change Your Life? VIII.

I walk my farm looking for change.
The purple shamrock is inching through
its oak leaf cover.  I rake it back.  The
hydrangea has green tips with infant leaves.
Figs, too, feel the sudden warmth after
so many icy days.  Pear blossoms swarm
into the tree whose height defies pruning.
The redbuds risk blooms.  It’s all risk
with the last average freeze date weeks
away.  My life is all risk, too.  Where I
walk to dig and plant, weed, and gather
food are stumps and stems, holes and
rocks so easily causing me to stumble
or lurch.  I put out my arms to balance,
hold onto a limb or a fence, or simply
stop and re-balance.  I can’t lose any
more. I need my organic, homegrown
food, and the way farming makes me
stretch and use all my body parts.  Will
I be able to keep hens in my nineties?
Not if I don’t do it in my eighties.  Use
it or lose it.  I walk more slowly, but I
do walk and carry feed and water, dig
out chickweed and grass clumps, 
chicken delicacies.  They come running,
scatter when I toss in weed clumps,
then rush back.  It’s my challenge to death.  
I will leave my hope behind for others.

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