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Miriam Carl, Clinical Aromatherapist

At Forty

12/21/2014

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Photo by Joni Brennan-Hazlett

Picture
At Forty

I don't remember
where I was going
or how I got here
except for a few moments
in the womb of a train at night

outside the window a moon
and inside a sound
so steady it seemed like silence

it's too late I know
but I keep thinking it will
get earlier I will start
getting younger slowly
and this time doing it backwards
I will do it right

and finally I will
grow smaller and become
a good wise child at last



                     Richard Shelton
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Raven Hill

11/2/2014

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Picture











Red rising on mountain rim

Valleys dark and sleeping.
Under cover of mist
A rooster announces yet another day.
Even as I stand here, red blends into
Pink and yellow and blue.
Fog stretches up to merge with the sky . . . .
Giving her a dress of pale blue-white.
Dotty and Raven at my feet, are
Impatient to begin.
With near memories of another walk
Through thigh-high grasses
Now mowed short.
Exposing dry earth
Alfalfa and clover moved aside
For goldenrod and Queen Anne's Lace.
I close my eyes and hear the crunch of 
Winter snow.


                                      
                                     Johann McKee

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In September

9/1/2014

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late Summer in Truro, MA. (Cape Cod)
the light changes.


Not just the light but 
crickets begin to sing
day and night.

I am drawn to find 
the gentle sea lavender.

Copper caps of mushrooms break

through dry earth as I walk 
toward the marsh where armies
of fiddler crabs scurry.

Along the way low-lying meadows of purple aster
like stars light up the ground instead of the sky.

There's an intoxicating decay from
dried oak leaves creased with spores.
Tiny dots of light pour through each leaf,
along the veins minute white worm-shaped
mold.

When I come upon these speckled leaves

I breathe in--spice, something--

close to exhilaration.


                      
                      Harriet Miller

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Welcome to the garden . . . .

8/21/2014

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Statue at Chicago Botanic Garden
Speak not — whisper not,
Here bloweth thyme and 
     bergamot,
Softly on the evening hour
Secret herbs their spices shower,
Dark-spiked rosemary and 
     myrrh,
Lean-stalked, purple lavender . . . .


                           Walter de la Mare

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Sky Above Clouds

8/15/2014

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Picture
Sky Above Clouds 
Christopher Buckley

My first memory
is of the brightness of light -
light all around -
a quilt of it, a patchwork
of red and white blossoms on blue
like these clouds down the evening sky,
their form, their budding lines . . .

My mind holds them
stretching away
above the day's cadenza,
that half hour when the hills
glow and lift on a last held note -
it is then that my mind saunters
over the cool, immaculate squares,
over the horizon line,
the next hill, where light flowers
across the finite trellis of this world . . . 



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Courage

6/9/2014

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Picture
Orange Tuque by Jackie Reeves
COURAGE

is not based on ability.
It is extra.

Knowing that somebody
always gets hurt, it gambles
every cent it has
and all it can borrow from friends.

And when it wins,
it gives back everything.
And even when it loses, it wins.


                                     By Richard Shelton

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Softly Softly

4/9/2014

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Picture
Photo by Joni Brennan-Hazlett
Softly Softly 
by Richard Shelton

         I
One day in April
when the palo verdes
have become golden beehives
and the acacia is showing
some promise of green
summer arrives in Sonora
full-grown

without remorse
without consulting anybody

on that day
the arms of the ocotillo
bend toward the earth
and at the end of each arm
is a hand filled with blood

every year in the desert
spring dies suddenly
while it is still young
and foolish and beautiful
and I survive

        II
death is a poor child
without a mother or father
how could I turn him away

and once I have taken him
into my arms
and cared for him
I will not be afraid of him
when he returns as a man
still needing me
and calling my name

        III
where the sky is king
no tree grows very tall
and flowers
the colors of dawn and sunset
bloom and fade quickly
 

when there are no second chances
there is no regret
only sadness
which surrounds us
and carpets our steps

like luxury

those of us who know
we will never come back 
from wherever we are going
see the beauty
of the landscape
through which we pass

and when it is too late 
life begins again
softly my friend
softly

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