Patti Wolf

Wintry Lane

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It is often I scamper to the woods to wash my thoughts of day. Beneath the forest crown, upon the threshing floor, and within the arms of watchful limbs I plunge sure-footed down wooded lane. Breathe in the mollify melody of birds among the trees. Feel the ease of earth between my toes. Inhale the woodsy scents of bud and rot. All enhance my taste of what lies beyond each winding bend.

It need not be swells of spring where sticky cobweb clings to hair. Nor sultry summer day as broad leaves waltz in wind. I anticipate the warmth of autumn’s glow, its blush bittersweet hues. Winter is when true forest cleansing scrubs from head to toe. Like icing on a cake, the trees are dressed in white. I sense a deeper purging… a pouring out of now and then.

cling to crusty bark
woes settled on thin shoulders
Refreshing forest

I had no idea all these years I’ve been ‘forest bathing’. Stop over at dVerse to see what it’s all about. “Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.” Psalm 51:7.

The Cat

Cat died today, faithful felon of old: my foot warmer, security blanket, and endless friend. I’m unprepared for grief. Let the cat in, let the cat out is no longer a routine in my day. As day breaks with morning’s new sunrise I will ponder how to fill the empty corners of life.

“O death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory.” With cat’s passing I ponder death and loss: the unborn, the war orphan and the unexpected loss. I’m told we shall not all sleep, instead be changed. This soul will be given a new body. I will weigh the balances of life and death.

As days and weeks melt this grief I choose to move forward. Embrace someone who suffers more than I. Grasp the hope of each new day. Yet in the crook of some days I’ll page through the memories of cat and I… cat died today.

Over at dVerse we’re investigating prose poetry. Dedicated to Rachael who lost her cat today and being encouraged by I Corinthians 15:55 I attempts the intangible… prose poetry.

Heart’s Laughter

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How effortless it’s to wiggle between tree line
where critter jiggles from oaks onto pines;
till somber, slate storm cloud wriggles and whines.
Wayward giggles lost among leafy vines.
Staggered squiggles of peace with worn twine;
as low-spirited heart may sorrow till morning shines.

“Even in laughter the heart may sorrow…” Proverbs 14:13 Over at dVerse it’s all about giggles.

A Moment

Sandhill Cranes from a few summers ago…

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I meander thawing meadow path. My grandson trails behind. Above a sandhill crane soars across muted sky. Mud caked hove prints cover our way. I gaze at my grandson. His eyes filled with wonder, as he freely asks questions. Questions about the nature of life. Trotting on through woods we spot the crane atop marsh ice. We linger in awe. The best things in life are freely enjoyed in a moment of time.

scarlet masked crane
hidden behind brittle grass
plumage reveals all

“Children’s children are the crown of old men, and the glory of children is their father.” Proverbs 17:6 Linking up at dVerse for a look at things free in life.

In the Word

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Pain comes and days draw nigh as I birr to my fortress. My keep, a sanctuary of stability, reminds me life is vaster than misery. It makes naught the storm or season for I am steadfast. Roots, tendrils, sweep deep drinking rivers of fresh waters. Gales rip at unripe fruit; I surrender not a leaf.

Visiting my massive maple tree which sits atop our highest kettled hill brings comfort. Below a marshy pond houses many critters. With late months of winter arriving, the marsh and tree come alive with song of birds. The sun warms cold flesh and I am refreshed. Not only now, but during my times of struggle I revisit this image and am reminded, as a child of God, I am firmly planted and can stand firm because I’m not alone.

steeple soaring sky,

ebony silhouette show;

my soul now aglow!

Inspired from Psalm One and encouraged by dVerse to the marriage of verse and artwork on Haibun Monday I present In the Word. It is said we are what we eat, but I wonder if what we read shapes who we are?

Darkness Lost Its Place

“Where is the way to

the dwelling of light;”

which ends of earth caress?

Why do you question?

Poor tired soul sulks:

forlorn, forsaken, fruitless.

As pointless days eternal,

dawn in dust and ash sleep.

Encased by God’s dawning light;

during testing… awakens. Rise!

I write a quadrille poem, inspired by Job 38:19, for dVerse making sure to utilize the word dawn.

On the Other Side of Winter

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I wrap my scarf tightly. The chill sinks deep. Mist rises and falls on frozen earth. Veiled clouds swirl over icy pond. All is still… breathless marsh grasses.

I linger in hope of returning critters: rambling ducks, chattering red-wings and gossiping geese soon will come home. It’s the prattling cricket frogs I long for these shadowy winter days. Till then I’ll be tranquil myself and wait.

Alabaster fog,

bundled stiff between seasons.

Awake marsh grasses!

It’s Haibun Monday at dVerse!

Little One

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Infant’s cheeks

soft as dove’s wing,

rosy blush of sunset.

Gentle breath…

in out, in out, in out.

Slumber my little ones

no cares this day.

Bring stillness to my

tender heart,

I whisper, “I love you.”

in small still voice,

“I love you.”

Over at dVerse it’s Quadrille Poetry (only 44 words) and make sure to use the word ‘whisper’. These precious darlings are ages 9 and 4 now. The photo hangs next to my exercise bike encouraging me to stay fit, so I can enjoy these special girls.

The Nature of Things

I drench my pillow with salty tears,
as night shadows loiter – slowly lurk;
till twinkling stars map promising hope.

Down woodland lane and sturdy oaks,
past thick meadow spills new growth,
toward endless surf and eternal sands;

all so much greater than I am.
There I whisper a longing prayer;
God’s creation with each rising sun.

“The heavens declare the glory of God;
And the firmament shows His handiwork.”
Psalms 19:1

Over at dverse we’re taking a look at nature’s healing touch.

Dirge for a Tree

my camera’s lens captures unusual qualities
scoured by flood and drought’s full vengeance
a hundred trees, precious trees, now stand dying

lush woodland slipped away, no longer speaks is dying
why is it the present holds hand with faults of past qualities
ripping with revenge, pouring payback and venting vengeance?

wind whipping loose bark from trunk with vengeance
brittle branches breaking, crackling under foot still dying
is tree’s charm mislaid or making way for new emerging qualities?

my eye captures new qualities
with vengeance,
no longer dying

Written in Tritinas Form (a,b,c…c,a,b…b,c,a…abc) in reflection to finding beauty in dieing tree and photographing them. Inspired by Emma’s dirge to Summer’s end. Linking up at dVerse.