Gifts
O Maple Tree
Click for meditationRegarding "O Maple Tree"
Every year I am
Susceptible to the whims of
Autumnal melancholy. Whether it
Is due to the falling leaves
Delivering an emphatic
Message of earthly
Impermanence, and
Rekindling within me the
Furies of things I would re-do
Differently, or the
Good things I have
Known and are now no
More, or something else…
But in its final gasps of
Change, fall is spectacularly
Beautiful and comforting – – setting an
Unmatchable standard of self
Sacrifice and duty, right
Up to the last leaves to fall and
The final glimpses of their
Wonderful, fading glory,
Particularly if I had kneeled
Down over them and
Was marveling how their
Plentitude must rival
The stunning miracle of the
Loaves and fishes as
They once laid multiplied
And displayed near the
Sea of Galilee.
Leo Carroll
November 21, 2021
O maple tree, your
Leaves lie crinkled beneath
My knees, but their
Yellow tatters still speak
In little whispers
Of warmth and love,
The kind that autumn
Spawns, tho’ it be “change”
In its goodbye hug.
Gifts
Suffering is the yeast
Which brings us to grow spiritually…
And God is the eternal
“I AM WHO I AM,”
During the e’er changing
Nature and faces of
Our pilgrim’s journeying…
Being
Click for meditationRegarding "Being"
I am coming
To realize that in this
Wood I am seeing my reflection,
Everywhere, in the form
Of leaves and trees
And inaudible
Whisperings, animate
And inanimate, in God’s
Image, all things
And me, beauty
Surrounded by beauty,
Change surrounded by change,
Life and death
In tandem, and seen
E’en in the faces of
Brittle hues on mottled,
Genuflected, leafy
Knees…
Leo Carroll
August 7, 2019
So here I am,
Where immersed in this
Grove of almighty
Pines and beech I sit,
Peaceful, as long as lasts the
Glory of this instant…
In sync I am, and putting up
No resistance like
Autumn leaves – simply
A pilgrim on the path
To crinkled dust, and
Carried by the wind on
The carpet of
Creation’s love…
Evening Snowflakes
Click for meditationRegarding "Evening Snowflakes"
At the most unexpected
Times, Creation speaks to us,
And usually this occurs in
Simple ways, so simple and
Routine that these
Communications can
Be overlooked. These gifts
Are meant to be a form
Of sustenance to us, to
Rejuvenate us, to be an
Ameliorating antidote to
The human condition.
And so, whether in the
Form of a flower’s face
Such as the snapdragon, a
Seagull’s call, the sound of a
Rising tide, the dance
Of a monarch butterfly,
The chirp of a late
Summer’s cricket, the
Warmth of the sun on
A south-facing, Maine
Wooded slope, the slow
Pace of a ladybug’s crawl, the
Glint of September’s
Fading light, the rush of
Winter’s wind through the
Tops of trees, a raven croaking
And circling far above, a
Flock of Canadian geese
Beating their wings into a
Stormy night, an autumn maple
Leaf floating on Walden
Pond, and, yes, even
The imperceptible weight
Of dainty snowflakes
On the jacket of a coat like
Mine, as I shut my car
Door and pull up my collar,
Reminding me I was absolutely
Not alone along a
Darkened path leading
Somewhere under no moon.
Leo Carroll
March 11, 2019
Down they come,
Big, soft, silent ones, as if their
Whole life they had
Been slowly falling, and
Finally up’n my shoulders
Land as lightly as if
They had no weight —
Except, that is, for their
Yoke of grace…
The sky against
Which they float has a hint
Of grey, black, and
Some blue, and the sheer
Quiet of their descent
Is staggering, as if they
Were at the end of
Silk puppet strings, and
Made of the curliest,
Winter wool.