The bird, a robin I believe, was
on the yet bare branch of the maple
facing east, backside to me.
It could have been the Buddha
sitting there in the cold air,
looking into that cold light of dawn
and frost on the ground. It was
not joined by any other bird
and I had the sense it did not feel
alone or needed company – content
in the not yet budding maple
looking east waiting, expecting
nothing receiving all that’s needed.
-Byron Hoot
The leaves I did not rake last Fall
are on the ground. We wait
for the Spring winds and storms,
the first grass cutting. We have formed
a pack to let things be as they are,
a wu wei approach which has trickled
over into many parts of my life.
The art of knowing when to do nothing
is a serious art form, capricious,
graceful, full of beauty and patience –
to many utter foolishness. But the leaves
and I disagree.
-Byron Hoot
Dost thou remember, dearest heart,
Before our lives were torn apart
How oft we met beneath the pines
Through which the silver moonlight shines?
Dost thou remember, fairest one,
Our midnight joy rides and fun?
When oft we took paths obscure
And found delight in each detour?
Does memory fail you, oh, my love,
How from New River's heights above
We lingered long midst leaf and fern,
While friends awaited our return?
Will time erase the tragic scene
When love and passion swayed my Queen?
Where lash-horns met across the trail.
When storms had passed and fogs dispelled,
Some wondrous scenes our eyes beheld;
Again we view the flock with pride,
Each lamb is safe at mother's side.
But time has turned another page
And storms still in your bosom rage;
One question I would ask tonight:
Will love or passion win the fight?
-Walter C. Harris
Long Branch West Virginia
1876-1936
Clarity
. . . and after the cold clarity of yesterday
and bright sunlight and strong wind which
took the snow away, Winter brought in
another snowfall. Not much but the way
your mom would say, “Don’t forget.” The
haunting truth of what was not to be
forgotten though what held true would not
hold true forever. So I look out and see
the permanence of change about to begin –
it is late Winter.
Outside and in.
"Give us peace in our time." from The Book of Common Prayer 1662
-- Byron Hoot
