Going Up?

I used to love elevators. They were the epitome of the grown-up business world when I was a young teen. I had a friend who used to spend his free time palling around downtown, riding elevators in the city where we both lived.

Then I grew to love the stairs. So bracing, so energizing, so vitalizing. When I visit vertical places and walk up a lot of steep hills, I can feel and see those calf and thigh muscles growing daily. I love that.

As a kid, I used to love climbing the birch tree outside the kitchen window. My goal was to climb just a bit further than my mom would allow, so as to alarm her (but only slightly) while challenging myself (a lot). It worked every single time.

When I have walked in the hills, or climbed — I can’t really call them mountains, they’re too young — Mount So-and-So, I like the peak the best. I like standing tall, looking out over where I’ve been. I like the wide view.

Camping as a child, I loved the woods. We went there a lot. Very occasionally, we would camp at a beach instead. There, I would practice scaling the cliffs, hoping not to fall off, but to find shale and slate handholds at each step.

One of my fantasies is to ride in a hot air balloon. I don’t know why I haven’t done it yet, but there’s still time. There are entire festivals devoted to color and uplift. Would I ride in a wicker basket? With sandbags? That would make the dream complete.

And you?

Moss

Today I went for a walk in the woods. I had just received some news: A thing I loved is ending, but not yet. This will open up space and time for new things. Aha! I thought. Spring! At last, the new has arrived! The next place my eyes were drawn was a long vertical bed of moss at the base of some gnarled tree roots at the edge of a creek. “This is the pace you will follow,” was the clear signal. “Grow your practice like this.”

What do you know about moss? I love the stuff. It’s soft (often) and cozy and prolific. You think it’s all gone, then it pops up after having been covered by leaves for a long time. It needs water to grow. It is edgy. It likes liminal places and options. It is not in a rush. It takes its own sweet time. “I can do THAT,” I thought. Grow at the pace of moss. Easy does it.

When You Are Ready

When you are ready, step out.

There is nothing holding you

but old nets, they are torn,

they are nothing

as to the breeze.

***

Under your skin

lies a new self,

anchored, closely

by your kin

but yours and yours alone.

Your song, it pushes

itself up and out,

steadying on your breath,

and out it goes, entering

with fervor and challenge

on a soft exhale.

***

When it returns, it brings

awareness of new

spring crocuses, through snow.

It brings saffron-golden

sunlight to to melt

the ice encasing soil,

it brings dew

on grass blades,

which graces which?

It brings alive

you.

Today the Deer

Today the deer do not mind

when I walk through the woods.

I ask permission, May I come?

They say, Of course. You are one of us.

Other days, they startle

and run away. On rare occasions,

they approach me and we

hold each other’s gaze for a long time.

***

The owls are back. What are they bringing,

news of the world beyond the veil?

***

Woodpecker taps out a rhythm,

theirs and theirs alone. So it is.

***

When I duck my head, hawk flies.

I love you just the way you are,

she reminds. Again and again.

***

A child sees a bird. A cardinal! I say.

He repeats it, Card-i-nal, card-i-nal

in celebration. Spring comes,

and with it rain —

but not yet. Only longing so far.