Thursday Poem - Assurance

You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills and thrums,
or the silence after lightening before it says
its names—and then the clouds'

wide-mouthed apologies. You were aimed

from birth: you will never be alone. Rain

will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,

long aisles—you never heard so deep a sound,

moss on rock, and years. You turn your head—

that’s what the silence meant: you’re not

alone. The whole wide world pours down.

William Stafford, (from The Way It Is)

For my little brother, James (Jamie) Brendan Franklin, (March 10, 1960 - August 22, 2023). Journey onward knowing you were (are, and always will be) remembered, treasured and much loved. I carry you in my heart.

Thursday Poem - Love After Love

The time will come

when, with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

at your own door, in your own mirror

and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.

You will love again the stranger

who was your self. Give wine.

Give bread. Give back your heart to itself,

to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love letters

from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

Derek Walcott

Happy Valentine's Day

Thursday Poem - Don't wait for something beautiful to find you.

Go out into the weather-beaten world
where straw men lean on frozen fields
and find the cardinal's scarlet flash of wing,
a winter heart, a feathered hope.

Without a camera or a memory,
we travel these old country roads,
turn corners like the pages of a book,
enchanted by the ordinary life

of fields and rocks and woods,
of small wild creatures stirring in the brush.
We take home pockets full of myths
and wonders seldom seen.

We will not give up easily.
Across the breakfast table
in our precarious nest,
we make those promises keep on going

that no one ever keeps. And yet...
there is the cardinal again,
a finial on our old gray fence.
Red is for Valentines.

Dolores Stewart (Riccio)

Friday Ramble - All Together

The day after tomorrow (Sunday) is the anniversary of my husband's passing from pancreatic cancer. Irv took his last breath at 9:23 AM on November 30, 2019 as I held him, and it feels like only yesterday that he left us and went on ahead.

To say that life without my soulmate has been painful is understating things and then some. There are no adequate words for the situation. I loved the man more than life itself, and it is still difficult to wrap my mind around the notion of years of life without him. Flourishing is not in the cards. Just surviving is hard work.

For many years, I was married to a guy with a razor-sharp mind, a dry wit, a fine sense of irony and a great laugh. The natural world was an endless source of delight to him, and he never wearied of its grandeur and its beauty. He was passionate about trees, rocks and rivers, fields and fens, birds, bugs and woodland critters, sunrises and sunsets, full moons and starry nights. 

He loved his tribe unconditionally. He loved this planet fiercely, and he loved rambling its wild places. Ramble we did by golly, hand in hand and all over the place, packs on our backs, notebooks in our pockets, binoculars around our necks and our doggy sidekicks trotting along with us. I could not have had a more wonderful companion if I had written him into being myself, and I simply could not believe my good fortune. I look back on our life together with amazement and gratitude.

Now it is Beau and I who wander through the great wide world together, in the flesh anyway. Cassie and Spencer, traveled beyond the fields we know long ago, but they are right here with Irv, and all three are walking along in the woods with Beau and I. There will be five of us on the snowbound trail this winter, but some of us will not need parkas and snowshoes or leave paw prints in the white stuff.

There is comfort in knowing that we will walk these hills together, forever. A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.

Thursday Poem - Assurance

You will never be alone, you hear so deep

a sound when autumn comes. Yellow

pulls across the hills and thrums,

or the silence after lightening before it

says its names—and then the clouds'

wide-mouthed apologies. You were aimed

from birth: you will never be alone.

Rain will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,

long aisles—you never heard so deep a sound,

moss on rock, and years. You turn your head—

that’s what the silence meant: you’re not

alone. The whole wide world pours down.

William Stafford, (from The Way It Is)

For my brother James Brendan Franklin
(March 10, 1960 - August 22, 2023

Valentine's Day

trust your heart 

if the seas catch fire

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

e.e. cummings

My soulmate and I usually didn't do anything lavish or opulent for Valentine's Day, and that was just fine with us. I made a card for him with one of my photos or graphic designs, and as awful as some of my efforts were, he cherished them—after he passed away, I discovered he had saved them all, every single one. I saved the valentines he gave me too, and the last one is still on my bureau.

A special pot of tea was brewed, tiny cookies were made in heart shapes, and a token was sometimes carved into a piece of fruit: a smile, a kiss, a heart, a dove, a lover's knot. We shared a single piece of decadent dark chocolate (Hummingbird, Purdy, Meybol or Vigdis Rosenkilde) and went for a long walk in the woods with our canine companions, first Cassie, then Spencer, then (and still with me) sweet Beau.

There were no special declarations of love on February 14th, and no need for them.  We told each other how we felt every day, and we were content with the way this day unfolded, no frilly gestures and lovey-dovey professions. We knew how we felt about each other, how good we were together, how fortunate we were to find each other many years ago and be able to walk through this world together.

This year, there is a handmade card on Irv's bureau, and I drew a heart in the snow in the garden. There is a mug of tea (Earl Grey) and a plate of his favorite cookies on the old oak table in the dining room. Beau and I will walk in the woods this afternoon, and my beloved will be with us in spirit, tucked safe and warm in the pocket of my parka. We will tell him we love him as we did every day when he was here on earth, and as we still do, every single day. Wishing you deep and abiding love too.

Thursday Poem - Don't wait for something beautiful to find you.

Go out into the weather-beaten world
where straw men lean on frozen fields
and find the cardinal's scarlet flash of wing,
a winter heart, a feathered hope.

Without a camera or a memory,
we travel these old country roads,
turn corners like the pages of a book,
enchanted by the ordinary life

of fields and rocks and woods,
of small wild creatures stirring in the brush.
We take home pockets full of myths
and wonders seldom seen.

We will not give up easily,
Across the breakfast table
in our precarious nest,
we make those promises keep on going

that no one ever keeps. And yet...
there is the cardinal again,
a finial on our old gray fence.
Red is for Valentines.

Dolores Stewart 

This morning's poem is reprinted with permission from my late friend Dolores Stewart's exquisite volume of poetry, The Nature of Things. 

Two on Earth, Five Together

This morning marks the fifth anniversary of my husband's passing from pancreatic cancer. Irv took his last breath in my arms at 9:23 AM on November 30, 2019, and it feels like only yesterday that he left us and went on ahead. To say that life without my soulmate is difficult is understating things and then some. I loved Irv more than life itself, and it is difficult to wrap my mind around the idea of years of life without him. Surviving without him is hard work, and flourishing is probably not in the cards. This day will never be anything but painful, and it will be very quiet.

For many years, I was married to a guy with a razor-sharp mind, a dry wit, a fine sense of irony and a great laugh. The natural world was an endless source of delight to him, and he never wearied of its grandeur and its beauty. He was passionate about trees, rocks and rivers, fields and fens, birds, bugs and woodland critters, sunrises and sunsets, full moons and starry nights. He loved his tribe fiercely and unconditionally.

He loved rambling, and ramble we did by golly, hand in hand and all over the place, packs on our backs, notebooks in our pockets, a thermos of tea, a camera around my neck and our beloved doggy sidekicks trotting along with us. I could not have had a more wonderful companion if I had written him into being myself, and I simply could not believe my good fortune. I look back on our life together with amazement and gratitude and so much love.

Now it is Beau and I who wander through the great wide world together, in the flesh anyway. Cassie and Spencer, his older sister and brother, traveled beyond the fields we know long ago, but they are right here with Irv, and all three are walking along in the woods with us. There will be five of us on the snowbound trail this winter, but three of us will not need parkas and snowshoes or leave paw prints in the white stuff. There is a small measure of comfort in knowing that we will walk these trails together, forever. A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.

Journey well, my love. May there be wide fields, fens, forests and sunshine wherever you go. May rose-breasted grosbeaks sing in the trees over your head as you go along, and may there be cold, clear streams in the woods nearby, tenanted by brook trout, spotted salamanders and little green frogs. Beau and I miss you so much.

Wordless Wednesday - Hearty

For Valentine's Day

My soulmate and I usually didn't do anything lavish or opulent for Valentine's Day, and that was just fine with us.

I made a card for him with one of my photos or graphic designs, brewed a special pot of something, carved a heart into a piece of fruit (usually an apple or a pear). I made tiny cookies in heart shapes. We shared a single piece of scrumptious (organic) dark chocolate and then went for a long walk in the snowy woods with our beloved canine companions, first Cassie, then Spencer, then (and now) Beau.

There were no special declarations of love on February 14th because we said so every day, and we were content with the way this day unfolded. There were no frilly gestures, gifts and lovey-dovey words. We knew how we felt, how good we were together, how blessed we were to have found each other so many years ago.

Irv traveled on ahead some time ago, but as always, there is a handmade card on his bureau. I will carve a heart on a McIntosh apple tomorrow and put it on the old oak table along with a mug of festive punch and a plate of his favorite cookies. Since there is no one to share a lovely bit of dark chocolate with, there will be no chocolate tomorrow. A mug of hot chocolate after dinner as usual, but that is all. 

Beau and I will take a long walk in the woods in the afternoon, and as always, there will be three of us on the trail. My soulmate will be with us, but he will be tucked in my pocket, and he won't leave any tracks in the snow. We will tell him we love him as we did every day when he was here on earth, and as we still do every day. I will love the man from the bottom of my heart as long as I live and beyond.

Wishing you deep and everlasting love too.

Thursday Poem - Don't wait for something beautiful to find you.

Go out into the weather-beaten world

where straw men lean on frozen fields

and find the cardinal's scarlet flash of wing,

a winter heart, a feathered hope.

Without a camera or a memory,

we travel these old country roads,

turn corners like the pages of a book,

enchanted by the ordinary life

of fields and rocks and woods,

of small wild creatures stirring in the brush.

We take home pockets full of myths

and wonders seldom seen.

We will not give up easily,

Across the breakfast table

in our precarious nest,

we make those promises keep on going

that no one ever keeps. And yet...

there is the cardinal again,

a finial on our old gray fence.

Red is for Valentines.

Dolores Stewart 

This morning's poem is reprinted with permission from my friend Dolores Stewart's exquisite volume of poetry, The Nature of Things.

Two on Earth, Five Together

This morning marks the fourth anniversary of my husband's passing from pancreatic cancer. Irv took his last breath at 9:23 AM on November 30, 2019, and it feels like only yesterday that he left us and went on ahead. To say that life without my soulmate is difficult is understating things and then some. I loved Irv more than life itself, and it is difficult to wrap my mind around the idea of years of life without him. Surviving without him is still hard work, and flourishing is probably not in the cards.

For many years, I was married to a guy with a razor-sharp mind, a dry wit, a fine sense of irony and a great laugh. The natural world was an endless source of delight to him, and he never wearied of its grandeur and its beauty. He was passionate about trees, rocks and rivers, fields and fens, birds, bugs and woodland critters, sunrises and sunsets, full moons and starry nights. He loved his tribe fiercely and unconditionally.

He loved rambling, and ramble we did by golly, hand in hand and all over the place, packs on our backs, notebooks in our pockets, a camera around my neck and our beloved doggy sidekicks trotting along with us. I could not have had a more wonderful companion if I had written him into being myself, and I simply could not believe my good fortune. I look back on our life together with amazement and gratitude and so much love.

Now it is Beau and I who wander through the great wide world together, in the flesh anyway. Cassie and Spencer, his older sister and brother, traveled beyond the fields we know long ago, but they are right here with Irv, and all three are walking along in the woods with us. There will be five of us on the snowbound trail this winter, but three of us will not need parkas and snowshoes or leave paw prints in the white stuff. There is a small measure of comfort in knowing that we will walk these hallowed hills together forever. A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.

Journey well, my love. Beau and I miss you so much. 

For the Violets

My departed soulmate's favorite spring flowers were the violets in our garden, and they were his mother Nan's favorite too. Every year, he waited patiently for the little dears to flower and feasted his eyes on them for hours when they did. He would bend and inhale their delicate fragrance, then look up at me and say that violets are for love.

When I discovered the violets were blooming this week, I plunked myself down on the steps nearby and had a good cry. I don't weep gracefully, and I probably looked like Hades as I sat there, blubbering and sniffling and wailing and sore of heart. Beau curled against me as closely as he could, trying to comfort me as he always does at such times.

And so it goes... the violets are just being violets and doing what violets are meant to do on this earth, but they feel like a message from my soulmate, and I miss the man so. The days of the wee purples are fleeting, but oh, how they dazzle in their appointed time, spring in and spring out. Violets are for love, and love goes on

A Little Love for Valentine's Day

trust your heart 

if the seas catch fire

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

e.e. cummings

My soulmate and I usually didn't do anything lavish or opulent for Valentine's Day, and that was just fine with us. I made a card for him with one of my photos or graphic designs, and as awful as some of my efforts were, he cherished them—after he passed away, I discovered he had saved them all, every single one. I saved the valentines he gave me too, and the last one is still on my bureau.

A special pot of tea was brewed, tiny cookies were made in heart shapes, and a token was sometimes carved into a piece of fruit: a smile, a kiss, a heart, a dove, a lover's knot. We shared a single piece of scrumptious dark chocolate (usually Läderach or Godiva) and went for a long walk in the woods with our canine companions, first Cassie, then Spencer, then (and now) Beau.

There were no special declarations of love and devotion on February 14th, and there was no need for them.  We told each other how we felt every day, and we were content with the way this day unfolded, no frilly gestures and lovey-dovey professions needed. We knew how much we loved each other, how good we were together, how fortunate we were to find each other so many years ago and walk this earth hand in hand.

This year, there is a handmade card on my soulmate's bureau, and I drew a heart in the snow in the garden. There is a mug of tea (Earl Grey) and a plate of his favorite oatmeal cookies on the old oak table in the dining room. Beau and I will walk in the woods this afternoon, and my beloved will be with us in spirit, tucked safe and warm in the pocket of my parka. We will tell him we love him as we did every day when he was here on earth, and as we still do, every single day. Wishing you deep and abiding love too.

Thursday Poem - Don't wait for something beautiful to find you.

Go out into the weather-beaten world
where straw men lean on frozen fields
and find the cardinal's scarlet flash of wing,
a winter heart, a feathered hope.

Without a camera or a memory,
we travel these old country roads,
turn corners like the pages of a book,
enchanted by the ordinary life

of fields and rocks and woods,
of small wild creatures stirring in the brush.
We take home pockets full of myths
and wonders seldom seen.

We will not give up easily.
Across the breakfast table
in our precarious nest,
we make those promises keep on going

that no one ever keeps. And yet...
there is the cardinal again,
a finial on our old gray fence.
Red is for Valentines.

Dolores Stewart (Riccio)

This morning's poem is reprinted from the late Dolores Stewart Riccio's exquisite volume of poetry, The Nature of Things, and it is a perfect description of the many happy years of rural ramblings I enjoyed with my departed soulmate. We both loved country roads, and we could never resist turning our wheels toward one we had just discovered. I love you, Irv, from the bottom of my heart, now and always.

Two On Earth, Five Together

This morning marks the third anniversary of my husband's passing from pancreatic cancer. Irv took his last breath at 9:23 AM on November 30, 2019 as I held him, and it feels like only yesterday that he left us and went on ahead. To say that life without my soulmate is difficult is understating things and then some. I loved Irv more than life itself, and it is difficult to wrap my mind around the idea of years of life without him. Surviving without him is still hard work, and flourishing is probably not in the cards.

For many years, I was married to a guy with a razor-sharp mind, a dry wit, a fine sense of irony and a great laugh. The natural world was an endless source of delight to him, and he never wearied of its grandeur and its beauty. He was passionate about trees, rocks and rivers, fields and fens, birds, bugs and woodland critters, sunrises and sunsets, full moons and starry nights. He loved his tribe fiercely and unconditionally.

He loved rambling, and ramble we did by golly, hand in hand and all over the place, packs on our backs, notebooks in our pockets, a camera around my neck and our beloved doggy sidekicks trotting along with us. I could not have had a more wonderful companion if I had written him into being myself, and I simply could not believe my good fortune. I look back on our life together with amazement and gratitude.

Now it is Beau and I who wander through the great wide world together, in the flesh anyway. Cassie and Spencer, traveled beyond the fields we know long ago, but they are right here with Irv, and all three are walking along in the woods with us. There will be five of us on the snowbound trail this winter, but three of us will not need parkas and snowshoes or leave paw prints in the white stuff. There is a small measure of comfort in knowing that we will walk these hallowed hills together forever. A fine untrammeled wildness dwells in our blood and bones, all of us.

Sunday, Saying Yes to the World

I don’t think there is anything as powerful as an active heart. And the activists I know possess this powerful beating heart of change. They do not fear the wisdom of emotion, but embody it. They know how to listen. They are polite when they need to be and unyielding when necessary. They remain open, even as they push boundaries and inhabit the margins, understanding eventually, the margins will move toward the center. They are tenacious, informed, patient, and impatient, at once. They do not shy away from what is difficult. They refuse to accept the unacceptable. The most effective activists I know are in love with the world.

Terry Tempest Williams

Violets Are For Love

My departed soulmate's favorite spring flowers were the violets in our garden, and they were his mother Nan's favorite too. Every year, he waited for them to bloom and feasted his eyes on them when they did. He would bend and inhale their delicate fragrance, then smile at me and say that violets are for love.

When I discovered our violets were flowering yesterday, I plunked myself down on the steps nearby and had a good cry. I don't weep gracefully, and I probably looked like Hades as I sat there, blubbering and sniffling and wailing and sore of heart. Beau curled against me as closely as he could, trying to comfort me as he always does at such times.

And so it goes... the violets are just being violets and doing what violets are meant to do on this earth, but they feel like a message from my soulmate, and I miss the man so. This morning it is raining, and their days are numbered, but oh, how they bloom in their appointed time, spring in and spring out. Violets are for love, and love goes on.

For Valentine's Day

My soulmate and I usually didn't do anything lavish or opulent for Valentine's Day, and that was just fine with us.

I created a card for him with one of my photos or graphic designs, and as awful as some of my efforts were, he cherished them—after he passed away, I discovered he had saved them all, every single one. I saved the valentines he gave me too, and the last one is still on my dresser. A special pot of tea was brewed, tiny cookies were made in heart shapes, and a token was carved into a piece of fruit: a smile, a kiss, a heart, a dove, a lover's knot. We shared a single piece of scrumptious dark chocolate (usually Läderach or Godiva) and went for a long walk in the woods with our canine companions, first Cassie, then Spencer, then (and now) Beau.

There were no special declarations of devotion on February 14th, and there was no need for them.  We told each other how we felt every day, and we were content with the way this day unfolded, no frilly gestures and lovey-dovey professions. We knew how much we loved each other, how good we were together, how amazingly blessed we were to have found each other so many years ago. 

This year, there is a handmade card on my soulmate's bureau as usual. I carved a heart on a McIntosh apple and am putting it in his place at the old oak table along with a pot of Darjeeling and his favorite cookies. Beau and I will take a walk in the woods, and my beloved will be with us in spirit, tucked safe and warm in the pocket of my parka. We will tell him we love him as we did every day when he was here on earth, and as we still do, every single day. Wishing you deep and abiding love too.