While in the Bosque del Apache Wildlife Preserve

Blackbirds
   a pantoum*

A cloud of blackbirds darkens the sky,
expanding and contracting
like a huge breath.
How can we not pay attention?

Expanding and contracting —
in a dance spontaneously choreographed —
how can we not pay attention?
The movement and joy are contagious.

It’s all a dance spontaneously choreographed,
and, admit it or not, we are being danced.
The movement and joy are contagious;
for a moment we forget who we think we are.

Admit it or not, we are being danced.
We’re being twirled by a beloved partner,
And for a moment we forget who we think we are
as we watch a cloud of blackbirds darken the sky

Carol Barrow

November, 2019

*Pantoum: A poem of any length composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza.

While in Gila National Wilderness

The Fly

A fly committed suicide in our cabin yesterday evening. For three nights before that, I, in my most compassionate Buddha-nature way, had allowed him to buzz circles around my bedroom. Actually, I accepted the droning sound, interrupted by his quiet exploration of window sills and lamp shades, because once I was under the weight of warm blankets, not much could drag me out before morning.

Each day, I’d forget about the little guy, until I settled in to sleep and he would make his presence known once again. 

Last night, my room was quiet when I pulled the covers up around my ears. That’s because earlier in the evening, as Lois and I had just finished heating tortillas in a hot skillet, the fly committed suicide by heat. It could have been an accidental death. Most likely, he didn’t mean to take himself out. But right after we moved the skillet to a cool burner, Mr. Fly flew into it. For a split second, I saw him dance like popcorn— or maybe he was just sizzling. I then realized what was happening, and Lois picked up the pan, but… It was too late. Dancing in three hundred degrees when one weighs about four ten-thousandths of an ounce is, of course, deadly. It would be for anyone.

Often, I notice myself letting out an Ohhh! of sadness and compassion when, for instance, a fly happens to burn up in a pan, or when I see a dead skunk or cat or dog on the side of the road. I not only suffer unnecessary grief for the animal I never knew and who is dead and no longer feeling any pain, I will also find myself sad for the deceased’s family, projecting onto them how bad I would feel if my family member burnt to a crisp in a big, hot skillet. 

So, for no logical reason, or maybe for the best reasons in the world, I had a few moments of sadness for that fly. And I wanted to tell the story of its demise. To honor that tiny being. Really, its story was every bit as important as any other I might tell.


Carol Barrow
November, 2019

almost spring

almost spring

something shifts
i always notice
the day i first notice
but i don’t know 
if it’s a sudden change
or one slow and gradual
missing my attention
until it’s blatantly obvious
in a familiar birdsong
not heard for quite some time
maybe since this time last year
but now it’s here beautiful
and cheery and 
honey I’m homey
its voice gives me a smile 
warmth flows through my chest
we’ve made it 
through winter’s depths
I want to die in spring 
when life is saying yes!
and so am I

Carol Barrow
February, 2020

le chevauchement

Well, that last post didn't work so well. I didn't know that videos don't come through in email notifications. Readers have to click on the blue post title which is linked to the blog if they want to view/listen to a YouTube video. Good to know. Crappy to happen.

My first blog post in almost a year, and it was an email flop. Oh, well. The song is MY happy song. Everyone has their own.

***

Some mornings, I read a poem by a contemporary poet, then steal a phrase that I like and write my own poem from that prompt (I only do this some mornings, because I lack discipline, and different days ask for different activities). I noticed that one writer wrote a few lines with words that ended a thought, but also began one. I have no idea if this is a "thing," if there is a name for this style of writing. I'd call it le chevauchement (the overlap). You'll see in the writing below, thoughts overlap. Kind of like how my brain works.


Late Summer Garden

The summer’s been quirky, 
and we found ourselves on the computer too 
much heat and not enough rain to keep the lawn green
beans have been plentiful, though, and kale grows
like weeds must be pulled around the roses weekly 
so the murdering bindweed won’t strangle them. Each 
year, I say next year will be more colorful
flowers would look nice mixed with the daisies. 
We’ll feed the grass in 
the fall I could plant bulbs if I remember 
this miracle growing right before my 
eyes keep focusing on what needs to be done 
and forgetting to enjoy even the perfect globe 
of dandelion seeds blowing the mind with happiness.

Carol Barrow
September, 2019

The Gift

When I was about nineteen, I met a young man, probably at a dance club, and we went on an afternoon date in the mountains. I don't remember the man's name, but I can see him in my mind, and I can also remember riding in his little green Triumph with the top down, going down a highway that, at that time, had very little traffic. The highway was so quiet, that when the man's hat blew off, he had all the time in the world to put his car into reverse, open the door, and pick the hat up off the road.

As we drove down from the mountains, the wind and this song created a wild dance of my hair and heart:




Not long after that date, the man would write me love letters. I was busy looking in a different direction. But I am so grateful for that memory. Especially for the song. When it comes to mind, which only happens every few years, I blast it from the speakers and dance wildly like my hair did that day.

What song will you drop into someone's life today?

A Lovely Thanksgiving

I was telling a friend that every morning when I wake up, before I do anything else, I spend some time thinking of things for which I'm grateful. The first thing I think of is always My Bed. Next, I'm grateful for my warm blankets, then it's my pillow. There isn't much that's better than my bed and warm covers, especially when it's time to crawl out of them into the cold morning air. That's when they become magnetic, trying to persuade me to stay just a bit longer, then another bit longer.

I do move on to other gratitudes that could be considered to have more substance, though I'm not sure that judgment is accurate.

In response to the description of my morning gratitude, my friend offered me this:

Every day, choose a letter of the alphabet, and throughout the day find things that begin with that letter and be grateful for them. 

Day one, I chose J. J was a challenging letter for me. But I saw Juniper trees and remembered making a happy face out of Juniper berries during my solo time while on wilderness quest years ago. I was grateful for that experience, and the memory of it gave me a smile. I also found gratitude for the Junctions of streets where I walk my dog each day; particularly the Junction that can be scary with cars whipping around the curve. That Junction wakes me up if I happen to to have been lulled into a daydream. 

In the evening while I was pedaling my arm bike, I looked around the room for things that began with J. Not even one book on my bookshelf had a J in the title. Oh! But I was using my arm bike for my shoulder JOINT! The Joint that has hurt so much and limited my movement so I can't even reach over to wash my other armpit. I love Joints, even ones that are limiting. Can you imagine a life with no Joints? 

Today my Letter is L. Ah. See that? Letter. I'm grateful for Letters. Letters that make up words that open the world for us in so many ways, allowing us to express, coming together to form books about Lives and Loves we might have not known without them. Oh, and the other kind of Letter! Something almost archaic now, but who doesn't love to read a handwritten Letter? (Unless the handwriting is mine and pretty much undecipherable...)

As I bake and cook and clean and prepare for family to come over for Thanksgiving dinner tonight, I especially want to pay attention to the L word Love in all the forms it shows itself. Love between humans, the Love it takes to get up early on a holiday in order to ensure the turkey is thawed and cooked just right, Love splashed all over the sky as a pink and purple sunrise, the Love that is shown by our Listening to each other. The Love that is everywhere in Life. Unlike my J day, I could spend this whole day finding L everywhere, because Love is everywhere, showing up in so many ways.

As I get ready to click on the Publish button, I am thinking of the few readers of this blog, people I know and Love. This day, and always, I hope that Love shows itself to you in each and every moment.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love

Carol