poem: squirrels, etc.

poems + "the more you love her, the more you love her" meditation

Mar 13, 2024

my family and I live in a part of the country not likely to see another freeze till late in the year. so before the memory of cold leaves us entirely (actually might get close to freezing a week from today), I wanted to share with you a couple cold-weather poems…

these were both written on the same walk in the woods on a very cold day last January.

of the second poem, I’ll only say that I would write a few lines, walk a bit, listen, write a few more lines, and so on… until it felt I had properly decorated the day and paid it a wee tribute…

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

the all brown of winter


under the all brown of winter
rocks and roads capped with dirty cream
speckle flecked with cinnamon,
our meager Monday’s snowfall still hides
voles, hole-hiding from foxes’ red fire
flashes like the iron-streaked soil
frozen ponds too soft for my walking
breath held
hardly hearing hounded hooves cloven,
coat wintered and nested 
wary wandering, deer and her fawn,
lifting upward my inward eyes
arresting me long enough to see the hickory
bedecked with twin woodpeckers red-crested
and phoebes rustling low, with winter
undecided on a freeze,
the stillness amplifying every living thing
on this barren “nothingness” 
where with waxen wings they’re founding little cities—
thank you for January, and her shy-cast shadows

—ZW

there is little that is especially inspiring about the woods I go walking in. no vast overlooks or waterfalls. just a patch of trees long enough and wide enough (and uncivilized enough) for me to get lost in for a couple of hours. walking and praying… but here, unsought for, many small creatures are getting along with the business of life.

a little thought tributary/meditation:

—THE MORE YOU LOVE HER, (action)
THE MORE YOU LOVE HER (emotion)

the first “love” is action—the second “love” is emotion…

when people attend to their loved one’s grave, it stirs remembrance. how much more when the loved one is still living?

when we love (action) the people and places in our lives, we love (emotion) them more. we invest ourselves into them. they become endeared to us because they are dear, and we treat them dearly.

if this sounds circular, it’s because it’s cyclical. they tend to feed one another. the action feeds the emotion, and the emotion feeds the action.

a cycle of love.

you know, the plant would do well if you looked after it.

I think it is same way with the shabby places we live. maybe they are not shabby—maybe their beauty is less apparent. maybe they will show themselves to the eager/patient student. some people are masters of finding these shabby but shining moments in the framing of a photograph. some write them into a song for us to take in. some even do miracles and find them in people… me—I tried to capture some of that shabby beauty in a couple poems…

I hope you enjoy them, and I hope maybe you pause and listen and think on where some shabby beauty may be hiding in plain sight.

thanks for being here. I write weekly sharing poetry, songs, musings, thoughts on creative life, and hopefully some encouragement… the poems are from my first collection of poetry called Snowmelt to Roots, and you can get them at my shop, on Amazon or on B&N.

cheers,

other poems I’ve shared here:

attempted contemplation at the breakfast table | MORNING

cup / path / song / house | MORNING

excerpt from a prayer | MIDDAY

God and the guest room | EVENING

I wonder if ever a buffalo | MIDDAY

instead of / why not | MORNING

morning translation | MORNING

San Antonio, Dec 2 | MORNING

taking her for granted | LOVE

the darkest night of the year | EVENING