Birds and Seasons
Click for meditationRegarding "Birds and Seasons"
Ah, connections,
Sweet connections,
Connections between birds,
Me, and seasons,
Connections, the things
Which tie the loose
Ends of my life into
Seamless, smooth knots,
Knots that make sense
To me, silken, like golden
Threads running
From month to month,
And so here I still
Am, with my ears
Listening to the
Avian voices of God,
With either a
Snow shovel or a
Spring rake in my hand,
But yet ready to
Always lift my head
And pause…
Leo Carroll
July 3, 2018
Little plump bird,
With your belly white,
Upon a snowbank
You peck at crumbs
Like you are the luckiest…
And above you
Watches blue jay,
From its curious perch on
A maple, as from
Its feet to below slips
Loose snow, to land
Where I resume
My raking in April…
Blue Jay
Click for meditationRegarding "Blue Jay"
There is always
Something happening with
Mother Nature.
She takes no time off.
We may think some
Seasons are quieter or less
Busy than others,
Perhaps some more beautiful,
But I believe that
Really means that we
Are not taking a
Close enough look
At our surroundings.
Consider winter.
The ice and snow do not
Chase life away, at
Least most life…
Usually, winter life is
Just masked or hidden by the
Cold conditions of the
Moment…but it can
Surface its face in a
Flash of a feather, such as
When a blue jay reminded
Me I was not alone
One lonely day.
Leo Carroll
July 2, 2018
I hear the
Call of blue jay,
But thankfully not in
Distress,
Just jay being
Jay, on a
January
Morning
When I thought
The winter
Was deaf.
Near the Quicksand Swamp
Click for meditationRegarding "Near the Quicksand Swamp"
One afternoon,
On a surprisingly balmy
Autumn day in the
Woods of Maine,
I laid onto my back,
And on a large, flat stone
Just dreamily gazed
Up at the tops of
Pine trees which were
Lightly swaying and
Letting loose
Their needles in
A wondrous display.
It was incredibly
Peaceful. A shower
Of pine needles was landing
Atop and all around
Me, and it was
As if I was receiving a
Genuine blessing
From the hand
Of Mother Nature,
Freely given and
In its gentleness
Amazing…and then
It passed…left…as if a
Wand had mysteriously
Crossed over me,
And my understanding
Of what the woods
Was speaking faded —
Behind a veil to
Someday be parted,
When I rest again
So easily…
Leo Carroll
June 21, 2018
For one brief moment, I
Felt I understood the woods. It came when a
Little breeze blew, and I saw pine
Trees their shoulders shrug
And their needles let loose…and then it
Was gone, my understanding
Fleeting like the precious breeze…
And I was left staring up at
Floating pine needles – but their descent
Again a forest mystery.
Ode to Milkweed Pods
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to Milkweed Pods"
I love milkweed pods,
And I love the field I find them in
Up in the woods of Maine.
Every time I walk into
That hallowed Maine field,
My eyes sweep for
Milkweed pods, and if I locate
Them, I always lie amongst
Them, as if their long
Stalks were blessing me,
The very same feeling I get as
When I dive into the healing foam
And font of the ocean.
So simple is Maine, so
Hardscrabble are
Its shrouded woods, so
Hidden its fields of milkweed,
So magnanimous to me,
So accepting, as if
I was a monarch butterfly,
And had alighted their sweet
Nectar to imbibe for my
Migration to eternity!
Leo Carroll
August 26, 2018
I thought I would
Never sit amongst you again…
That you would be but
A memory I always inhaled in the
Hymnal of my breath,
But then there you were —
Unexpectedly back, awaiting me —
The face to me of Maine’s autumn, and
So accepting unconditionally!
And so amongst you
I reclined, and you began to
Nourish me as if I was a
Monarch butterfly, and your pods
Became the nectar to sustain my pilgrim’s
Flight, until finally my migration
Reached the old by-and-by…
Ode to ‘Reading Room’
Click for meditationRegarding "Ode to ‘Reading Room’"
How I love my time
Spent in the woods of Maine!
At one point in my life, I went up
There for twenty one straight years every
November, and in all my
Life I have never found a more
Consistently peaceful place to
Contemplate and write. Every sight and
Sound in the woods had
Meaning to me, and I had a
Wide variety of names to refer to
Some of my favorite spots –
For example, the “Reading Room,”
The “Field”, and the “Trap Line” were
Three locations I regularly
Visited. Each had a natural niche
For me to settle into, and to
Wonder and daydream.
I wrote hundreds of poems
While up there. I would just sit in
Silence. The “Reading Room”
Became my best-liked, and
I would often end my day
There as the late afternoon
Light took over the woods.
Invariably at a certain point,
I would hear the melancholic
Barking of a dog coming from
The pasture of a distant, white
Farmhouse. The sound would waft
Across the tops of the trees,
And I would be reminded
Of something in my past which
Was comfortable and I called “home.”
And so, even now when I no longer
Go up to those beloved Maine
Woods, I will daydream
Of the many walks which
I took to find my resting place
In the “Reading Room.”
In the case of the poem for
Which this meditation is
Written, I was daydreaming
One January day of what
The path I walked would look
Like if there were no footprints in
The snow, and if the “Reading Room”
Was all alone watching what
I would have been watching, but
Sadly there was no one there
Now to call the barking
Dog home …
Leo Carroll
February 25, 2019
No footsteps in the snow
Lead up to you today,
No flesh cold sits upon your
Ledge, no mind wanders and then
Wonders at every sight and sound, and no
Melancholy rises up in the throat
When bays a dog across the
Primeval expanse between you
And a lone, white farmhouse –
Which even now from here,
Lo all these hundreds of miles away,
I can still see gleaming like a
Shining beacon across the tree tops
In my daydream’s gaze.