I think that
Every Day is Earth Day
don’t you? We are so blessed to live on this beautiful blue and white planet.
The earth itself is an altar to breakdown, decay,
collapse, demise. And from these infinite violences,
we rise, like trees, we rise.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “On Earth Day”
Yesterday I enjoyed the bright sunshine and milder temperatures. On my walk I looked for signs of wildflowers and trees leafing out. Partway through the walk I sat on an inviting bench and simply soaked in the beauty all around. I gazed at the sky and the trees and felt blessed to be alive on such a day.
A bald eagle flew high overhead, seeming to float on air as it scribed wide circles in the sky, white tail and head glowing in the sunlight. A crow cawed and chased it, giving up chase as the eagle soared higher and higher.
Clouds scudded through the sky and a light breeze tickled my face. I thought to myself, “What a gift, simply to be alive on this day!”
Later I wandered in the backyard with my camera. Finally the lavender crocus buds were open. I made several photos of them but it wasn’t until I had downloaded the images and begun working on them that I noticed the pollen-clad bee crawling among the blossoms gathering nectar.
I was glad that the bee found these flowers blooming on this beautiful spring day. It was another reminder that we need to create places for pollinators in our landscapes.
A New (to me) Poet
I discovered a new poet today while listening to a meditation led by Tara Brach (The Path of Love). Tara ended the meditation by sharing a poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer. I was so taken with the poem that I searched for more of her work online and found a blog where she regularly shares her poems (see link at the bottom of the poem below).
For When People Ask
I want a word that means
okay and not okay,
a word that means
devastated and stunned with joy.
I want the word that says
I feel it all all at once.
The heart is not like a songbird
singing only one note at a time,
more like a Tuvan throat singer
able to sing both a drone
and simultaneously
two or three harmonics high above it—
a sound, the Tuvans say,
that gives the impression
of wind swirling among rocks.
The heart understands the swirl,
how the churning of opposite feelings
weaves through us like an insistent breeze
leads us wordlessly deeper into ourselves,
blesses us with paradox
so we might walk more openly
into this world so rife with devastation,
this world so ripe with joy.— Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, post in A Hundred Falling Veils Blog
May you walk in beauty.
Note: If you look closely you can find the bee in every crocus photo below.
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