The Language of the Grove (A Poem)

I’d like to know
the language of the grove,
to understand the subtle
conversation of the trees.
To speak without words,
to give and to take
as they need,
to sustain and support
through heat waves and storms –
there’s a special kind of magic
in those ancient roots
and rustling leaves.

Letting Go (A Poem)

What’s left
when the leaves
have fallen
and the grass
has gone fallow?
Once the air’s grown cold
and the night sky’s shifted,
once the frost has
come and covered
the hills and meadows,
what’s left to us
in this new
season of darkness?
To rest, to sleep,
to build a hearth fire,
to watch it snow.
To breathe deep and
release a sigh out
among the coming
winter winds.
These belong to us,
are made for us and
left to us by the maiden
and the mother and the crone.
Just as it begins
when new things grow
in a world made bright,
the old year ends
quiet and star light,
with a gentle
and a loving
letting go.

Found Friday #40: Spider Writer

I’ve mentioned before that I’m not particularly squeamish about bugs and other creepy crawlies. (Except snakes.) I find them pretty fascinating, actually. (Except snakes.) So when Graham snapped a shot of this colorful lady while he was out doing some work on the house yesterday, my first thought was, “What a pretty spider!”

And she is, isn’t she?

I did some research today, and it turns out, this giantess is an Argiope aurantia, sometimes called the writing spider. They’re known for the patterns they weave into their webs, which often look like X’s and Z’s. They’re not aggressive, but they will bite if provoked, and they tend to stay in one place throughout their lifetimes. And an interesting bit of folklore: It’s been said that if you tear down a writing spider’s web or try to harm it, the spider will build a new web the next day with your name written in silk, thereby cursing you with bad luck.

So, I’ll leave her alone, then. Which is my general rule of thumb anyway, when it comes to spiders.

But it does feel sort of appropriate to have a writing spider close by. I certainly don’t plan to bother her, but I think it’s pretty likely that I’ll check on her every now and again, if only to see what new patterns she’s created.

Summer Storms (A Poem)

They arrive
and darken the skies.
With a boom
and a crack,
like sprinters on a track,
they test their mettle for
the measure of a moment.
And in the end, they are
like victory – so very short,
nearly fleeting.
But never, ever sweet.

Found Friday #35: Summer Daze

It’s a beautiful, warm, sunny day here in my little corner of the world. The birds are happy and singing. The breeze is gentle. The leaves are green and lush. The clouds are few and wispy.

Makes it hard to focus on much of anything except being outside and taking it all in. And you know, that’s just fine.

Found Friday #34: A most welcome visitor!

You guys! Look!

I’d lamented last week that I hadn’t seen a single cicada in my yard, and who should stop by shortly after but this little weirdo! I didn’t see him in person, sadly. He was hanging out on the bush that Graham can see from his desk, and Graham snapped a picture before he flew away. Not ideal, sure, but I’ll take what I can get!

(Not) Found Friday #33: Cicada Season

Brood X. That’s what they’re called. Billions of cicadas, emerging from a 17-year underground nap, all over the Northeast U.S., including Northern Virginia.

These critters are seriously fascinating. I know they’re a little odd to look at, but they’re just the sort of oddity of nature that I find super compelling. (I’ve never been particularly squeamish about bugs. Well, except ladybugs. But that’s a post for another day.)

I hear these little winged weirdos are pretty good for the environment, and, though I’m not brave enough to try them, one restaurant nearby is even serving them in tacos.

It’s too bad I haven’t seen a single one at my house. Those pictures? My sister-in-law, who lives a few towns over, took them. This one, too.

Apparently, I live in a tiny pocket of Loudoun County that sees a different brood’s migration. I’m disappointed. I feel like this should be the soundtrack of my early summer…

…but alas, all’s quiet around here.

Found Friday #32: (Almost) All Grown Up

The fox kits that live under our barn have been extra active this week. Look at them!

They’re almost grown! They’re so big, you guys. And their little tails are so fluffy! I’ll be sad to see them leave their den, but red foxes tend to stick to the same area their whole lives, so hopefully we’ll still see them around from time to time.

A Poem for Meg

“What lovely flowers,”
I say,
and what I mean is:
“I see how much work it took
to create this blissful space.
It’s something I could never do,
at least,
not without significant difficulty.
I appreciate the beautiful things
you’ve planted and nurtured.
I can see the love in your heart,
because you’ve poured it
into these little pink sunbursts,
and all of the others around us, too.
I’m grateful for this time with you
in your garden.”
But that’s a mouthful
and a half,
and we’ve got limited time
this visit.
So what I say is simply,
“What lovely flowers.”
And I trust that you’ll get the message.