it is a relief to not be raveled -
but rather to be finely woven

like a sweet grass basket,
or pale roots that reach deep
into the comforts of soil and loam

in equal parts flourish and succor,
I have discovered in us a landscape -
an expanse of trust and generous sky

and things between are not a tug-of-war -
darkness versus the light -

but rather quiet observations
on how sunlight coaxes shadows
into long, delightful things

© Sarah Whiteley

Four more days, and all the work craziness will finally be behind me. It will be a relief to be done and a blessing to once more have the time to actually focus on writing and reading. Be well, my friends – I’ll see you soon!

a brace of camellia buds,
pale gold and swollen,
nod knowingly in the rain

March puddles may come,
but the thrush still shouts
when he’s discovered his mate

April is at the threshold
and soon a parish of sparrows
will be singing themselves silly
in the branches of the wild plum

© Sarah Whiteley

tangled in the lines
drawn by your lips -
bursting red,
and wild as flowers

I savor the grace
of your hands -
I am as slow
as honey in them,
and as sweet

© Sarah Whiteley

6:57 AM and light’s early overture
has warmed the cherry petals just enough
that the faintest scent of sweet emerges

maybe it’s more than just scribbling poets
who note these moments and mark the time,
mentally ticking off the mileposts to restoration

but this morning’s note is more than that -
today’s surfacing defines a full ten years,
and the cherry trees have bloomed to remind me

when my bus crosses John Street, I lose it -
cry quietly against the window at sunlight
pushing obdurately through the newest leaves

but by tiny degrees, I still find comfort
in the indomitable certainty that gently-scented,
spring will always return where you cannot

© Sarah Whiteley

A little sad today – marking the 10-year anniversary of losing my little brother. Don’t think I made a complete fool of myself on the bus – at least I hope not. I do find the cherry trees comforting. The bloom does go on.

On a side note, I do not recommend beginning spring by simultaneously breaking your toe and ripping the toenail off. Can we say ouch?! Yes,… yes we can. With a few other choice four-letter words thrown in for good measure!

this morning I startled
the sudden green flit
of a hummingbird
beak-deep in the hyacinth,
just as I and the morning
rounded the corner
at Republican and 18th

all things, it seems,
have their individual gravities
with a varying pull between -
and mine is perhaps now
an easier peace due to
the gravity of me with you
underneath the cherry trees

© Sarah Whiteley

I always feel a little special when I see hummingbirds, so this morning it was a nice treat to stumble across the little green fellow in the spring flowers. I was able to head into work a little later than usual today, so got to actually enjoy a little morning light and wildlife. And of course the crows were thrilled I remembered to bring breakfast. One hopped after me like a stray dog begging for more, so much so that a man walking in the opposite direction turned around and stared at me and my little corvid companion for a full block.

One tax deadline is done as of last night. One more spring deadline to go. I plan on catching up on my blog reading this week and weekend – looking forward to it! And after April 15th, there will be a nice little pair of announcements – one a big life transition, and the other just plain old fun!

Be well, my friends!

a slow chain of greening begins beneath -
unseen, sneaking through damp earths

a stealthy pushing aside of rocks
and winter for worm-paths and pale roots
sending tentative inquiries further afield

spring seeks surfaces in the same way
the yellow-beaked robins break the dirt -
in the same manner leaf-buds seek an April sun -

an abiding search for choicer feasts
and a respite from waiting, bare-branched,
until we can say with certainty spring has begun

© Sarah Whiteley

I hope you’ll forgive my absence lately – I’m smack dab in the middle of the spring tax deadlines and it doesn’t leave much space for reading or writing or cloud gathering. Of course the head cold isn’t helping any of that either.

But be well, and I’ll catch up when I can!

today I would trade my squelchy shoes
and sodden self for warm dogs
and ticking radiators, steaming mugs
of freshly brewed, nearly obscenely
creamed coffee – there’s even, I think,
a donut on the kitchen counter
with my name on it saying stay in!

but instead it’s frizzled hair,
unending responsibilities, and rain
that managed to drip everywhere

© Sarah Whiteley

Squelchy Mondays are the worst.

I said “I love you” that first time
at 2 a.m., both of us standing
mostly skin in your kitchen -
foreheads pressed together as if to
discern the truth of one another,

the beat of it so wildly turning
I can still feel the flutter
(from rib to throat to crown)
rise and curl like windblown smoke
from an August bonfire casting sparks
against the impenetrable dark

© Sarah Whiteley

the insistence of clouds
makes of this a barely moon -
a struggle against
the low skies of winter

and yet yesterday
I watched a robin stridently pipe
his wish for a willing wife
from the top of the power pole

spring, though still disguised
in her winter veil,
emerges from the damp -
shyly purple, in violets

© Sarah Whiteley

whole-skyed and flying,
soft-rain-pattering,
humming-handed amazement

green-leafed, joyous/fearful,
dancing out-loud
laughing universe

feet grass-grounded,
migrating eyes,
home-hearted wanderlust

this is how, my love,
I love you

© Sarah Whiteley

Every now and then I’m allowed to be silly in love. Happy Valentine’s Day, fellow lovers of love and life!

camellia-img_5414

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