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The snow this morning falls on brook and rushIn great flakes wending slantwise without purpose,The sky above a wakening tent of grey.So does my daughter wake, and say she’s sad.For, sorrow sometimes strikes us with its bolt,But mostly is a kind of atmosphere.It doesn’t enter us. We enter it,And . . . . Continue Reading »

France's Tragic Song

This year, France’s presidential election is being fought almost entirely on the terrain of national identity. Not on the question of who is best suited to govern France, but on the ­question of what France even is to begin with. So much public discourse circles on the same questions: Are we . . . . Continue Reading »

Rising, Rooted

Now is the timeto be still and listen,This is the beginning,Help us to hear,Rooted and rising,The sound of the sea,A whisper, a murmur,Help us to beFluid and flowing,The womb of creation,Rising in water,Rooted in earth,The Sacred is risingIn time to give birth,Mother and daughterSister and . . . . Continue Reading »

Nihilism for the Ironhearted

When a man proclaims nature malignant in all its parts and professes to hate life itself, one’s first suspicion is that something is profoundly wrong with him. The man’s grievance against creation must be the effect of some personal deficiency in body or soul or both, rather than a sound . . . . Continue Reading »

God of the Gold and Purple finches

Finches at all my feeders flash and bickerin ritual consternation and all weather,jangle at me with never-ending want,need me compliant but omnipotent.Within the nearby pine, push comes to shoveas the shrill chorus nags me, makes me leavethe cool deck and my chair and drink and bookto fetch seed . . . . Continue Reading »

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