From Galway Kinnell's "Saint Francis and the Sow"

The bud
stands for all things
even for those things that don't flower
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within
of self-blessing.

Circles, Cycles, Rhythms

A friend asked me today if I thought my life was going in circles. I told her yes, but that it was a good thing. I have a labyrinth on my altar, and I trace its path with my finger sometimes -- going in, circling the center, resting there for a moment of breath, then coming back out again. I am drawn the the idea that life is a maze, but not one you can get lost in. One that you find yourself in.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot -- "Little Gidding" (the last of his Four Quartets)

"Nothing Gold Can Stay" by Robert Frost

I am growing a pot of forget-me-nots -- they are such tender things. I have to prop them on the side of the pot, the first brave ones. They came up too soon before the sun could toughen them up, and now their stems are too spindly to support the spreading green of their leaves. The other ones -- the ones that bided their time under the rich dark soil -- are not as tall. But because they grew in their own time, according to their own cycles and rhythms, they will be able to grow tall and hold their own in the world.

They are teaching me a lot, these little green things.

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

From Stranger Than Fiction

"Sometimes when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin. Or a kind and loving gesture. Or a subtle encouragement. Or a loving embrace. Or an offer of comfort.

Not to mention hospital gurneys. And noseplugs. An uneaten danish. And soft-spoken secrets. And Fender Stratocasters. And maybe, the occasional piece of fiction.

And we must remember that all these things – the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties -- that only seem to accessorize our days are really here for a much larger and nobler cause – they are here to save our lives.

I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that is just so happens to be true."

"Spring and Fall" by Gerard Manly Hopkins

To a young child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.