Creation
Looking into the Face of a Dandelion Puff
Click for meditationRegarding "Looking into the Face of a Dandelion Puff"
When I looked at that
Dandelion puff, my immediate thought
Was I was looking at a facsimile
Of what the Big Bang must have first
Appeared in the beginning salvo’s
Nanoseconds…an ever-expanding,
Billowing, outward scattering,
Which to this very minute
After fourteen billion years
Still continues! What mystery!
What breath to set all that in motion!
And what a breath we, too, have,
Created as we are in God’s image,
To likewise seed our own self-made
Universe, an aspect of mine
Being my meek garden, which
Sits astride one mere acre of this
Blessed planet earth!
Leo Carroll
June 29, 2019
I have seen the universe,
But not through some telescope’s
Unimaginable magnification,
But with my own eyes
As they burrowed into the
Innocent face of a dandelion puff,
Where before my gaze
Unfolded a microcosm of God’s
Creation, just like at the
Big Bang, when The Almighty’s
Lips gently blew…and little
Star seeds were sown to the far
Corners of somewhere…
Spring Cleaning
Click for meditationRegarding "Spring Cleaning"
Birds are so faithful,
And in my opinion are
Attuned to the emotions of people
They encounter. The chirp
Of a bird can be so uplifting and
Mood-changing, and
Seems to come at the
Most opportune
Of times. I believe
Birds can “sense” our
Minds and emotions, and
Can be “there” when we need
Someone or something
To be “there!” So
Often I have been
Stunned by the ministry
And blessings of birds.
Chickadees, in
Particular, are good
Examples of this. They
Are tiny, but their
Hearts are so large!
Once on a cold and raw,
Autumn day in New
Hampshire, I was standing
Beneath a very large pine in the
Woods and watching a
Flock of chickadees about
Fifty feet in front of
Me. Over a course of
Several minutes, they kept
Inching their way
Towards me, hopping
From branch to branch,
Until finally they
Were about five feet in
Front of my face…
Then, they all rose up with
A rush, with the feathers
Of one of them brushing my
Right cheek! What an
Expression of love that was,
What tenderness, what
A wonderful way to be
Touched by the wings of God!
And thus also this
Past spring, when I was
Doing cleanup in my
Garden after the snow and
Wind of winter, I was standing
In a bunch of leaves with
My rake when I heard a
Flurry of activity around me,
And I realized it was the
Love of chickadees
Returned to me again, as
They flapped their
Wings about my feet,
And anointed me with
Maple leaves fluffed
About my boots without
My even asking …
Leo Carroll
October 1, 2019
A rustle in the leaves —
Surrounding and about my feet — and
Each maple leaf moves as
If fluffed by the wind,
But lo, ’twas not
A zephyr, but a gust of
Chickadees alighting like an
Angelic hymn!
In Remembrance
Click for meditationRegarding "In Remembrance"
My father was a firefighter
For decades, but seldom, if ever, spoke
Of the true dangers he faced.
He would come home from a
Shift, and might say he was
At a “bad fire” the night before,
But nary a word was breathed about
What made it so “bad.” Years
Later he confided to me a few
Details, but he totally carried most
Of his experiences to the grave.
Towards the end of his life,
He gave me some of his
Old fireman gear, including
His rubber coat, boots, and helmet.
All of his equipment was
Saturated with the smell of smoke,
Smoke which had swirled from
Fires many years before.
In each pocket of his rubber
Coat was a door wedge. I once asked
Him about it. He told me every
Fireman was taught to carry them
So they could wedge open a door, and
Not have it close unexpectedly
Behind them and trap them.
His wedges were all darkened and
Disfigured and smelled, too. In my Dad’s
Days as a fireman, firehouses did
Not have washers and dryers
For the firefighters to keep
Their fire clothing clean.
In Massachusetts they now do.
But the dangers of carcinogens in
Smoke–infused environments
Were not commonly known years ago.
From the time my father went to
His first fire until his very last,
He simply kept wearing the
Same heat-seared and smoke-reeked
Gear over and over. And so when I
Got possession of his equipment,
I ultimately hung it outside
On a maple tree to air out. It is
Still there. One day this past winter it
Snowed out…and the flakes
Alighted his coat and gently
Just stayed. I sensed he was getting
An anointing. I and my siblings
Might not know the details of his
Firefighting career, but Creation knew
The humbleness and dependability of what
He unselfishly always did…
Leo Carroll
July 22, 2019
…And so is draped his
Fireman’s coat, still his broad
Shoulders showing, altho’ it’s been
Almost forty years since he
Donned and wore…
His coat, his sense
Of duty, and lo’ still on this winter’s
Day carrying the smell of
Long ago smoke…
O’ Dad, almost all those
Fires you fought you seldom of spoke,
But the snow knows, and its
Softness anoints in silence the
Dignity of your tome.
Vermont Morning
Click for meditationRegarding "Vermont Morning"
And so when a woman
Recently showed me a photograph
Of her palms cradling a
Little bat in Vermont,
I was taken aback. She was
Supporting the creature
As if on the softest
Throne of white mittens.
I knew this was a special
Woman. She had found the bat
Asleep on a wall in her
Vermont home one morning, and
Had taken pity on it.
If she had been a member
Of the Jainism religious
Sect in India, which
Practices non violence
Against all living beings, she
Could not have been more loving.
She handled the bat as if
She was presenting the
The long lost treasure
Of the Knights Templar.
The photo of the bat
In her palms was taken
About 10-15 years ago,
And yet she still carried it
With her as if it was
A sacred, holy relic, and
When she showed it to me,
I was able to peer into
The simplicity and
Compassion of her soul.
Leo Carroll
February 16, 2019
Who else in knitted, mitten-white
Palms would e’er cradle a
Tiny, helpless bat in hopes to keep
The scared creature calm?
Very few people would … only
Someone who had herself been lost, and
Thus recognized the cry when
The morning sun wafted it across.
Winter Blessings
Click for meditationRegarding "Winter Blessings"
All it took was the
Meditative rhythm of the
Sound of light rain falling on
A small garden bed
Covered in old oak and
Maple leaves, to
Soothe the seas of
My mood, and then
Adding to this calming
Effect was the soft sound of the
Same rain hitting the
Mossy and mottled
Rocks of an adjacent,
Worn stone wall …
Reminding me once
Again that the gifts from
Creation actually
Occur all year-round,
Not just in spring or
Summer or fall,
But in winter when
First impulse might be
To don sackcloth
And ashes, but instead
The January drizzle
Wags its finger and says,
“No, not at all …!”
Leo Carroll
January 11, 2019
I hear
The pitter-patter of light
Rain on leaves, maple and oak and
What else lies hibernating between, and
I hear an even softer sound
As it lands on a nearby
Stone wall’s mottled moss,
Green and grey in blotches, an old
Coat from the colonial era,
But to me now like new
Wineskin cloth . . . and
Thus my ears listen intently,
Interpreting, soothed by
This revelation and nurture
Alive in my January garden,
When winter would
Otherwise harness me
To my mood, and it wouldn’t
Be until the first crocus’s
Song that I’d dare consider what
Spring’s freedom could
Loose.