if I could freshen the day
like flowers kept
in the ironstone pitcher –
trim away the wilt,
snip the calloused ends,
gather up the fallen curls
of color from the floor
if I could invite the breeze
to brighten the gray
garland of winter hours –
I might better stand the sting
of lingering February
and find the light
amidst the hardened snow
© Sarah Whiteley
My newest chapbook Wandering Wonderful is now available for pre-order from Finishing Line Press.
“Beware, O wanderer, the road is walking too.”
― Jim Harrison
the trick is to rise up
with the mountain,
and not to bring it
down beneath your feet
not all who wander
will understand this
and for this reason,
I tell no one the way
and keep the starred
avalanche lilies
for my own selfish
roaming self
© Sarah Whiteley
light dropped
from a great height
makes no sound still
words now
would be thin and
near to useless
hush, since
it’s futile to
say you are my joy,
and watch
the hummingbird search
the warm, red bricks
pretending
flowers where
there are none
© Sarah Whiteley
our forsythia doesn’t bloom,
never having been properly pruned
the workmen (dirty-jeaned, bantering)
being more adept at paint and plumbing
than the etiquette of flowers
© Sarah Whiteley
I imagine the mint went first,
followed closely by the flares
of the nasturtiums, and the phlox
the day of the uprooting
the delphiniums would have been
crushed, curls of pearl and sky,
into the soil that fed the roses
when the garden was pulled
yet strange that the winter sage
was left alone beside the rue
beneath the emptied trellis
© Sarah Whiteley
Yesterday marked 7 years since I first started ebbtide. 7 years since I made the conscious decision to begin writing again in an attempt to reclaim the creative side of myself that I felt was being pushed aside or squashed by the everyday. 7 years of readers, of sharing, of emerging friendships which could not have happened without this blog.
And so thank you to all of you who have passed through this little corner of the world, whether you’ve left a mark or not. Thank you for the support and the kindness and the critiques over the years. This place has been my succor and my salvation in many ways. And I am beyond appreciative for the positive changes that have come about as a result. So thank you.
in one last,
luminous bloom
-summer erupts-
golden, wondrous
sun-drenched sentiment
a perfectly
whorled farewell
© Sarah Whiteley
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
now the jasmine’s done,
the Russian sage stands
taller, though leggy
in the September sun
and I begin to look
for purple bursts of
asters on my walks
here and there,
the anemones still bloom,
though half-droop as if
weary of the effort
to shine beside their
hardier counterparts
soon the crows will
gather in the beech tree
in raucous reunion –
a return to their winter
roost-mates and safety
in dark numbers
and I find comfort
in the crunch of leaves
the fires dripped
by trees for me to
ponder through, always
the words blooming
and roosting raucously
in my wandering head
© Sarah Whiteley
The first (and the absolute worst) of the work deadlines is past and I’ve somehow again managed to muddle through it. Tired, ruffled, feeling very behind on writing and reading, but alive all the same – and that is enough for now to be thankful for. Looking forward to a weekend of relaxing and catching up on the dusting before things pick up for the second work deadline. And I’ve got LOTS of reading to catch up on!
by the roots, you say,
but sometimes the roots
are impossible to get at
or they’ve spread immeasurable
tendrils in countless directions
so that even when pulled,
pioneers still bust the sod
and burst in yellow jeers
at all my efforts
may as well give in
(nature always wins)
and call that weed a wildflower
© Sarah Whiteley
so many bumblebees,
the locust flowers
tremble in delight –
my window is open
wide to wonder!
© Sarah Whiteley
I do love the locust tree outside my window. The flowers are just beginning to fade and fall, but it’s still abuzz with fat little bumblebees all day and in the evening the Anna’s hummingbirds come for their share of the sweet. So fun to watch them! To top it all off, there’s a squirrel nest in the tree and near dusk, the whole family of them scampers past along the power line on their way home. Lucky, lucky, lucky me.
If you haven’t seen the crow news lately – go and check it out! Exciting stuff happening!
ebbtide 