Autumn Equinox

Black coffee and a sweet Bosc pear

enjoyed in the stillness

of a Sunday morning.

It is a busy time of year,

tomatoes and peppers

fill baskets on the kitchen table,

hazelnuts are in the dryer.

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A Room of One’s Own

Stymied, I close the front door behind me,

step into summer’s humidity,

leave frustration piled on my desk.

A trail of unconnected thoughts

floats behind me,

mundane words

litter the sidewalk.

Then, I notice

the spotted fawn studying me

from the bushes, startled,

she lopes away.

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Writer’s Block

I have lost the ability

to capture words,

To snatch them from the ether

and pin them to the page.

I have lost the talent

to grab a comely phrase

and spread it on a line.

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Celebrating Childhood

Even the wind wants
to become a cart
pulled by butterflies.

I remember madness
leaning for the first time
on the mind’s pillow.
I was talking to my body then
and my body was an idea
I wrote in red.

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Wild Geese, Revisited

In her much-beloved poem, Wild Geese, Mary Oliver has something to say about our endless attempts to prove ourselves. Life “calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting,” she says, reminding you of your home in the family of things. Adrie Kussarow reworked Wild Geese to help us sort through our knee-jerk responses to the coronavirus.

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Keeping a Nature Journal

During the coronavirus, our daily forays into the natural world have kept us sane, and we’ve been extremely grateful for access to a park, a hiking trail, a meadow or a garden. As our world shifts, we keep returning to the landscape for a sense of solace, and more of us are keeping a Nature Journal.

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After Lorca

While travel is restricted we can conjure up a place in the imagination. Here’s how a poet visits faraway places while staying close to home.

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