Seasons
Slate-Colored Juncos
Click for meditationRegarding "Slate-Colored Juncos"
One long ago
Winter day, a mix of
Grey and overcast and my
Mood the same,
I was peering out my
Window at one of my
Rock gardens, and
As I was doing this,
I noticed the barest
Of movement
In the curled-up,
Dormant grass.
I thought at first it
Was a single bird, but I
Soon realized it was
A tiny flock of
Small, blue-grey
Birds, sparrow size
Maybe, but birds
Which I had not
Noticed in my garden
Before. They kept
Inching their
Way closer to my
House, and their heads
Were vigorously
Bobbing as they
Pecked away
At some invisible
Source of nutrient.
Before I knew
It, they reached
The foundation of
My house and were
Right below the very window
I was looking out, and
Finding sustenance,
Where 30 minutes before
I had thought all was
Cold and grey!
Leo Carroll
January 29, 2019
Little blue-grey
Birds inch their way
Towards my house,
Their beaks to the ground,
Their hope to fill
Their mouths.
Their color seems
To be of the sea’s winter
Sheen – cold and
Hard – but I believe
Their tiny beaks feed a
Gentle breed.
Cabin in the Woods
Click for meditationRegarding "Cabin in the Woods"
I was up in the
Maine woods one year with
A group of some friends.
We were there for the
Week in an old,
Historical hunting cabin.
One afternoon,
Most everyone had
Found their spot
Out beneath some tree
Or along a stone
Wall, but for me — my
Day had ended,
And I was sitting in the
Cabin with just
One other friend,
A dear friend, an old
Friend, a long-time,
Dependable friend, the
Best kind of friend,
And we were talking
Over a glass of red wine.
As the afternoon reached its
Zenith and final light,
An absolutely peaceful,
Melancholic
Warmth settled in
Upon the cabin, and
I realized how
Sometime soon
We would ourselves
Become merged
With the woods in a
Final accounting
Of all things created…
I always cherish that
Singular moment, that light —
And, particularly, that
Friendship to
Share in it.
Leo Carroll
May 11, 2018
Gradually
Settles up’n the
Cabin an autumn spell of
End-of-afternoon, fading light,
Golden in its hue, and
Melancholic in the
Warmth and glow it casts,
And a reminder, also,
That we are caretakers of
This place in time, and
Like the ghosts that once sat these
Self-same chairs in the
Womb of these old walls,
We, too, will someday share
With the woods the
Coming final sunset and
Descending night.
Almost
Click for meditationRegarding "Almost"
Someday
I’ll walk through
That thicket,
Someday, when
My time has
Come, and I’ve
Taken my
Last compass
Reading along
A stone wall
Where I am welcome.
Ah, to enter…
I think I will know
The time when to take
That final step…
I’ll just merge with
The overcast
Of the day,
And step through
Into another
Wood, and it
Will look exactly
Like this wood,
The same,
Except on the
Other side I will
Know of the
People I meet — far
More names.
Leo Carroll
June 4, 2018
Never could be
Found me,
If I truly
Wanted to
Quietly
Disappear
Into this
Maine
Thicket.
Just a few
Further steps
And I would
Be gone,
As if I passed
Through a
Veil’s
Smoky
Mirror, and
Last seen
Of me was
Only a fading
Wisp.
Choosing Heaven
Click for meditationRegarding "Choosing Heaven"
In the woods of
Maine, no matter which
Way I walked, even
If I went in the
Wrong direction and
Somehow got
“Turned around” and
Was temporarily
Lost, I always
Was on the path to
Heaven, because
Any spot in
Those pristine
Woods was as if
Peering into the looking
Glass at all the
Ramparts of
The Almighty’s
Palace on the
Glistening heights of
Caesarea…
Thus tries to
Speak this poem…
To the left —
If I wandered
Into a
Prototypical
Maine field — it
Was as if I
Had come before
The font of
All wisdom
And understanding.
If I walked down
The path to
The right — my
Spirit was blessed
With all the
Hues of autumn, as if
Sprinkled from
Creation’s fingers.
Leo Carroll
June 3, 2018
In which
Direction should I
Choose to go,
As I muse
The best path
In my pilgrim’s walk
To follow…?
To the left
Leads me into
A glorious meadow
Of milkweed
And its pod,
While to
The right
Meanders a
Rough-hewn
Road,
Where a
Canopy of
Golden
Shade and
Shadow awaits to
Clothe me
In the hues I
Long…
The Field
Click for meditationRegarding "The Field"
I was once given a gift,
A gift shown to me by a friend,
A gift beyond words to ever adequately
Describe, and a gift
Surpassing all measure and
Human treasure.
It was a place in the
Middle of the Maine woods,
Secluded, a field, a golden field,
Surrounded by old stone
Walls, inhabited by
Everything good that
Could ever be said
About the purity and
Hardscrabble spirit of Maine,
And it was in that field I learned
I could rest in solitude
Amongst the milkweed pod, and
Could recline in ease and
Peace with my name.
Leo Carroll
April 24, 2018
I stepped into a Maine-filled field,
Breathed its life and felt its feel,
When then I spied the milkweed pod, and
Mused they lined the path to God…
So amongst the pod I reclined myself, and
Spread my cares before that land devout. When
Then replied from a treetop far, crow’s
Answering call in knowing “caw.”