Stone Walls
Stone Wall and Flowers
Click for meditationRegarding "Stone Wall and Flowers"
Some weeks ago,
I was sitting beside the bed of a
Woman who was in hospice.
She has since passed away.
We were quietly talking, and
She was very reflective.
Out of the blue, she said
There were “two things” about
“Beauty” which were “important” to her…
She went on to say that
The hardness of a stone wall was
One of them, and that it was
Only equaled by the exquisite
Softness of the earth which
Nestled silently at its base.
She then continued, saying that
When looking up’n a stone
Wall, it was easy to become
Fixated on the wall’s strength and
Reliability and endurance,
But to overlook the softness
And gentleness of the
Grace resting at its feet – the
Meek grass, the wondrous
Autumn leaves, and the indomitable
Wild flowers. As I listened to her
Observations, I was taken
Aback, because although I
Had always loved stone walls and
Had written about them for
Decades, I had missed the
Complementary way in which
They blended into their environment…
That is, that duty (as represented
In the solid face of the wall)
Could not endure over a long
Period of time without the relief
Of a soft shoulder of love to
Lean and weep up’n. …
Leo Carroll
March 31, 2020
Against the stone wall
She gently placed some flow’rs, to
Complement the wall’s
Hardness in answering
The call to duty and honor…
And thus the wall
Finally genuflected, ne’er
Before having been
Brought to its knee…
Until a humble woman by
Her kind act — showed
That e’en valor needed the
Softness of beauty.
Not Too Far
Click for meditationRegarding "Not Too Far"
Not too far from the Jeep Trail
Winding through Morrill’s woods is an old
Colonial-era homestead, or, more
Specifically, the homestead’s
Cellar hole, made of hardscrabble
Stones which would have been
Painfully unearthed by calloused
Flesh in times long gone.
The homestead site is totally
Invisible from the Jeep Trail, perhaps
No more than 75 feet away…
Forgotten, blocked by
Increasingly thick woods.
Also blocked or lost
Are all the homestead’s
Memories. Trees are even
Trying to grow in the cellar hole
Itself! Nothing speaks,
Nothing moves…it is only
Creation which knows what the
Stone cellar walls know.
It is only Creation which has
Heard the voices which once made
The homestead a home.
And it is only Creation
Which can bathe in warmth
The cold November temperatures
Ingrained in the stones, even
As they still feel the freeze
Of the ancient glacier which once
Tumbled them when the
Land was not even known…
Leo Carroll
December 11, 2019
Near the Jeep Trail
Here I sit this cellar hole amidst,
Just stoic stones remaining without the flesh
Which long ago them set…nothing
Left now…no voices, no laughing,
No crying…no pain, no joy…
No births, no deaths…no nothing…
Just this lone moment long
After footsteps took their last
Step…long after the last
Crib was rocked, long after
Was whispered the final vesper
At someone’s death…
But yet despite, still the sun
Shines, and to the cellar
Hole addresses, “I know all that
You did…so please take my
Warmth, and let this light up’n
Your stones be visited.”
Ode to Old Homestead
E’en the trees have tried to
Take o’er your cellar’s soul…but they
Underestimate the strength of
Your carefully-fitted stones…
What chance have the trees – –
Their trunks are made of
Mere wood!? Your stones are
Much harder than that, and e’en
An ancient glacier into the
Sea could not them push…
Daffodils
Click for meditationRegarding "Daffodils"
It came to me
That my own pilgrim’s path
Resembles the
Seasonal flow of my
Garden in a four-part act, with
The fresh growth of
Springtime’s hope and
Rebirth akin to my
Ever-evolving
Renewal, followed
By the endurance
Required in the summer
Heat of July…a
Metaphor for the
Endless twists and turns of
The human condition
As it sits the beach of
Low and high tides…
And then the final
Burst of color and beauty
In autumn, before
Plunging again
Into the deep sleep
Of winter, only to
Arise again in April,
Pointed and poised to
Resume my journey,
But always bowed by the
Growing pains of
Bloom in my
Season of change…
Leo Carroll
May 7, 2019
…One of the first
Fruits of spring — daffodils
Buttery-yellow and
Dangling from the
Ear lobes of morning —
And at their feet
In fealty, the remnants of a
Once-magnificent,
Autumn leaf, placed by
Winter’s wind and
Now a companion
And witness to
The fresh shoots
Of daylilies green,
And all of these
Stirrings staring into
The stoic eyes of
Garden stones, the
Singular thread
Stitching together
My rock garden
As my shifting
Seasons unfold…
Home of Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Home of Stone"
Again and again
I return to say
That whatever I believe
In my heart
Represents best
What in life
Seems true
And trustworthy
Is seen in a stone wall
Cutting on a perfect
Heading through
The woods, as
Much a part
Of what sits in
New England
As maple, birch,
And oak, and the
Animals which scurry
Amongst the crevasses
Of the rocks which
The wall’s builders
First fitted together
When up from
The earth was
Offered in glacial
Oblation the finest
Granite objects
The Universe
Ever saw.
Leo Carroll
April 11, 2019
A stone, or a
Collection of stones,
A wall, definitely
Something calling me
Home, reliable,
Trustworthy, making
Me melancholic
When in gloaming
I roam, built by
Flesh, by palms
Calloused by hard
Work honed, indeed,
A paean to duty
And everything
Holy like Gibraltar
Pointing its face
Into an Atlantic
Storm, yes, a wall,
A wall of stones
Against which
To lean, recline, and
Dream on a day in
Autumn warm,
A place which has
Withstood Time’s
Passage without
Pause or flinching, a
Monument to
Strength and what
Lies within, a bed
For me to safely sleep,
A womb in which
To rest, a place
For my hat to be
Finally set, and duty’s
Descriptive postcard
With no more to
Be said…except to
Daydream that bays in
The distance a
Long ago dog, and
Then a small child
Runs up to call
Me to supper, just
As sunset starts
To dip in a farewell’s
Beautiful yawn.
Silence in Stone
Click for meditationRegarding "Silence in Stone"
A stone wall is symbolic
Of everything this world is not.
It is silent, content to
Bask in solitude, confident
In its strength, and in
Absolutely no need
To be known. It is just there,
Wherever it is, blending
Into the background
Of everything going on
Around it, quietly listening,
Unassuming, and
Satisfied to stand in
Loyalty and solidarity to
The flesh which built
It with long ago hands.
It has no expectations,
Except that in autumn some
Maple, oak, and beech
Leaves lean against its
Moss, and that together
In the fading sunlight they
Share in the glow of the lost
Art of tenderness
In a time-forgotten,
Promised Land.
Leo Carroll
April 1, 2019
I try to claim each
Day in the name of silence,
If such a thing from
Noise is possible
In this world the
Garden of Eden has
Cast us into. Perhaps
This is why to
Stone walls I so
Gladly cleave.
They seem to
Be able to stand
Without having to do…
And just to be…
They are content in
Their timeless, tireless
Strength, and
Are happy to
Let the forest and
Its timbers beat
Their breasts before the
Moon, as if to
Achieve this could
E’er surpass the
Silence resonant in a
Stone’s beauty.