Nature
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Back in 2015, I taught a one-week summer poetry workshop. For one of their assignments, I challenged my students to compare themselves to one of the core elements or something from nature. My poem, “Elementary Matters”, based on this concept, can be found by clicking on the poem title. The poem below comes from the
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“[A body] belongs to the world of love, which is a world of living creatures, natural orders and cycles, many small, fragile lights in the dark.” Wendell Berry – from “Health is Membership” Reflection: The Bull Thistle By Vincent H. Anastasi 2022 Magenta flames stopped me on my way, burning on the spiny base of
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Monday morning, as I looked out the windows of The Observatory (our family room), I saw a grey heron down in the creek. At first, I was content to simply admire him from afar. Besides, if I went outside and down to the water’s edge, I’d surely scare him off. But the lure was just
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A quiet evening by the open window reading Andrew Klavan’s The Truth and Beauty. The neighbor’s window air conditioner humming incessantly in the background. William Wordsworth’s timely sonnet about the pervasive nature of our modern world. A train whistle in the distance. The bread and the wine. What follows is the synergy of those experiences
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As I sat in bed last night, debating between Marilynne Robinson’s Home, Andrew Klavan’s The Truth and Beauty, or Mary Oliver’s Devotions, I eventually settled on Oliver’s collection of poems. Sleep would be coming quick, so a poem or two felt like a safe bet, especially when Robinson’s novel doesn’t include any chapter breaks (sheer
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At the end of the summer, I bought a bonsai tree. I planned to bring it to school to enrich the ambiance of my classroom (so much wall-to-wall gray!). For a few weeks, it served as the unique centerpiece of our kitchen table. With all of the light in the observatory (our dining/living room area),
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For weeks now, there has been silence – the stationary pen that only marks the page of my journal when I nod off in bed. Some call it writer’s block; I call it “the dehydrated soul groping about in desert landscapes.” I feel like one of T. S. Eliot’s hollow men. I am a dried
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Autumn has burst on the scene with its varied invitations to deepen. In the midst of the full swing of a challenging school year, my son’s busy soccer schedule, and the general maintenance of cars, toilets, and lawns, I’ve still managed to stop to ponder the nuthatches feeding in the neighbor’s pine trees by the
the deepening ground 