Foxglove Moments

Foxglove Moments

Foxglove is the name of my property, five acres overlooking the Lewis River Valley that was covered with the wildflower when I first moved here in 1996. 




I come into the peace of wild things,

I come into the presence of still water,

I rest in the grace of the world,

and am free.

                         Wendell Berry











[First posted: November 3, 2019]

We have this understanding, the deer and I.

When I first bring plants home from the nursery,

I leave them out overnight.

If they are still there in the morning, I plant them.

If they aren't, I don't



[First posted: August 10, 2019]


I dine alone this evening,
sitting out on the hillside
enjoying a still summer night.
Suspiciously still.
Where is everyone?
No squirrels? No chipmunks?
(The feeders are full.)
No jays, no junkos,
no chickadees, robins or wrens?
Not even flies?

Was there a memo I didn't receive?



[First posted: July 11, 2019]

We all have to face it: Some things are not meant to be.




[First published: June 2, 2019]


The chipmunks and I are developing a very special relationship.

I think of them as my little woodland friends.

They think of me as a primary food source.

We're very close.




[First posted: September 30, 2018]


Storm surge.

Light layered between darkness.

Sunset seems steeped in significance...
Or maybe just one of those days
when anything can be a metaphor for something else.

I really need to stop fretting about the next four years.





 [First posted: November, 2016]




















    Some days the sun doesn't simply set.
    It takes the world with it,
    and this valley becomes
    a shimmering chameleon
    of changing color and mood rhythms,
    a creature of the night
    slowly waking,
    mysterious, lurking,
    freed at last by the departing light.






[First posted: March 31, 2016]



They are collecting pieces of people at a Belgian airport.

A child is tortured to punish his father.

God has been appropriated for a dubious political campaign,

and a thuggish clown wins another presidential primary.

At times the world seems too much with us,
almost too much to bear.




Yet this day also offers blossom antidotes,
beautiful, brief,
a momentary relief,
but it is enough, it is enough,
before the world comes rushing back in.








[First posted: March 24, 2016]





Recently, on a dreary afternoon
in the bleak of winter,
I, made snowbound by a sudden storm,
was writing at my desk,
when there experienced that uncanny sense
that I was being watched.

Pausing my pen, I turned with growing apprehension
to the glum gray light outside my window,
and there didst behold two glowing orbs staring out of the dusk.
"Fiend!" I cried. "Infernal fowl who haunts my dreams!"
(Okay, maybe I was a little overdramatic.)
"What message bring you from that other world?"

I braced myself for the specter to speak the dreaded curse of
Or maybe, Anymore?

But spake it not. Neither did the apparition depart,
but kept its unholy vigil outside my window, staring,
forever staring with its red demonic eyes.
Which actually turned out to be the ruby underparts on the hummingbird's throat. 

But still kind of spooky.




[First posted: January 9, 2016]





 He remains serene
whatever the season.

In Tales of Tokyo, Jason goes walking alone at dusk along
the coast of Matsushima. Overwhelmed and weighted down by the woes of the world and by the pain, misery and loneliness that seem our human inheritance, he comes upon a stone Buddha:

"Imperturbable and serene in heat and cold, the Buddha sat there with that secretive smile, like one who knows but isn't telling; and Jason wondered,
can one really live in this world and know such peace, such calm, be so undisturbed by life's disappointments and sorrows,
so untroubled by its desires and temptations, without being made of stone?"

When I walk this hillside and come upon a buddha, I wonder this still.









[First posted: November 21, 2015]