Tag: Bloom

We Should All See Things So Simply

Posted on February 26, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

We should all see things so simply…

the basics of bone

the sky unchanging blue

sandhills that endure

despite eroding thighs.

We should remember

these curving shapes

are what we are,

and move with similar precision

toward the light.

Leaves reaching through darkness

crack pale stones,

persist,

bear scented strength in secret

until blooming time.

Perhaps we should strive

for their courage

in those acts that need no guidance —

the flamboyant thrust of stamens

up and out of opening petals.

I love the beauty, the simplicity, and the message of this poem titled “Calla Lilies: For Georgia O’Keeffe”, by Jane Candia Coleman from her exquisite collection, “Poetry of the American West: No Roof But Sky”.
photo credit: Lilly via photopin (license)

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Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

Beauty, The Brave, The Exemplary, Blazing Open

Posted on February 19, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

This week El Nino backed off, and the sun smiled on us with 70 degree days. Everywhere I went, the violets popped their purple and white heads, the daffodils unfurled into yellow trumpets heralding spring, and the finches and flickers and chickadees flock to the feeder in glorious song. It’s hard not to think about spring and the emergence of new life just below the surface.

Oh, this world. This humble and silky life. Thank you, Mary Oliver, for reminding me to fill my arms with flowers, to be wild, and that “there it is again — beauty the brave, the exemplary, blazing open” trusting the journey to spring.

Peonies by Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary, blazing open.

Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

~ Mary Oliver