FATHER’S SONG
Yesterday, against admonishment,
my daughter balanced on the couch back,
fell and cut her mouth.
Because I saw it happen I knew
she was not hurt, and yet
a child’s blood so red
it stops a father’s heart.
My daughter cried her tears;
I held some ice
against her lip.
That was the end of it.
Round and round: bow and kiss.
I try to teach her caution;
she tries to teach me risk.
-Gregory Orr
When I got in my car this morning, I wore two wool sweaters, plus a raincoat. It was only drizzling so I wondered if I were a bit overdressed. But as I drove up the freeway to pick up a friend for church, suddenly it was drenching rain. Cats and Dogs. Buckets. I explained our American descriptors for a lot of rain to my African friend, but those phrases were inadequate to describe the feelings I had about the great blessing of water during those twenty minutes of downpour.
When was the last time I was out in that much rain? Could it be real? Yes, it was real — real water that is our daily miracle and sustenance, whether we live in the desert or by a constant river. There were puddles to show that when I was in bed last night, and even yesterday when I sat far from the window, at fireside, it had rained a good amount. I am so thankful.
A COLD RAIN STARTING
A cold rain starting
And no hat—
So?
-Matsuo Basho, (1644-1694) Japan
VERTICAL
Perhaps the purpose
of leaves is to conceal
the verticality
of trees
which we notice
in December
as if for the first time:
row after row
of dark forms
yearning upwards.
And since we will be
horizontal ourselves
for so long,
let us now honor
the gods
of the vertical:
stalks of wheat
which to the ant
must seem as high
as these trees do to us,
silos and
telephone poles,
stalagmites
and skyscrapers.
but most of all
these winter oaks,
these soft-fleshed poplars,
this birch
whose bark is like
roughened skin
against which I lean
my chilled head,
not ready
to lie down.
– Linda Pastan
COURTESY
Of Courtesy, it is much less
Than Courage of Heart or Holiness,
Yet in my Walks it seems to me
That the Grace of God is in Courtesy.
On Monks I did in Storrington fall,
They took me straight into their Hall;
I saw Three Pictures on a wall,
And Courtesy was in them all.
The first the Annunciation;
The second the Visitation;
The third the Consolation,
Of God that was Our Lady’s Son.
The first was of St. Gabriel;
On Wings a-flame from Heaven he fell;
And as he went upon one knee
He shone with Heavenly Courtesy.
Our Lady out of Nazareth rode —
It was Her month of heavy load;
Yet was her face both great and kind,
For Courtesy was in Her Mind.
The third it was our Little Lord,
Whom all the Kings in arms adored;
He was so small you could not see
His large intent of Courtesy.
Our Lord, that was Our Lady’s Son,
Go bless you, People, one by one;
My Rhyme is written, my work is done.
-Hillaire Belloc
Gladsome Lights 