When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars that you have established;
what are humans that you are mindful of them,
mortals that you care for them? -Psalm 8
And yet, here we are, cared for, given a home on earth
by the God of mystery—the untamed Spirit of mercy.
The God of white rabbits and weasels and winter trails winding
through scrub poplar, under an evening sky popping with starlight;
and it’s only six o’clock, still long
glorious hours before you’re called inside to bed.
And see how the moon’s mindful light
concedes to a nearby constellation;
an encouragement, little one, to name yourself,
and shine on.
Shine, on the frozen snow squeaking under your felt-lined boots.
Shine on the trail to the dark barn, the warm cows, the work
of your fingers, the volley of steaming milk
hitting the galvanized pail, and the one-eared tabby waiting,
on the calf-pen rail for an arching stream.
Shine, on your cabin retreat, shine on the suet in the bean can
on the veranda, the sudden appearances of juncos and redpolls,
and nuthatches stealing seeds to cache in the crevices of poplar bark,
and a quartet of whisky jacks, their pewter shadows
lengthening in worship under a leafless birch.
Even the frost, building its straight line
along the window pane in the loft, shines
with a mix of moonlight and starlight,
a soft argent caress coming to rest on your silver hair,
your laugh lines, your tear-worn face, your midnight prayer,
your bins full of memories.
Very well-depicted scenes Steve.. I felt that life on the farm as you aptly painted here. That was not so very long ago,, or was it?
Thank you, Beth. Both perspectives are right.
Love the juxtaposition of winter and the warmth of the barn. As always, a pleasure to read your poems, Stephen.
Thanks, Cara. Always a pleasure to hear from you.
There with you, Steven, giving glory. 🙂
Thank you, Marcia.
oops – sorry I misspelled your name!
I answer to all spellings. 🙂
What an exquisite poetry
Thank you, Leelah!
“The God of white rabbits and weasels and winter trails winding
through scrub poplar, under an evening sky popping with starlight” I can see it all, Stephen in my own mind’s eye. You didn’t mention snow in this stanza but I see it glistening, touched with starlight in the dark.
And the cows and the barn…memories of when I used to help milk at a neighbor’s dairy, the 4 am milking and the milking by hand at an educational farm in Maryland with the galvanized buckets and the cats. Thank you for all of this. I feel warm inside at so many blessed memories. I almost look forward to winter, as I wait for the white-throats and juncos to arrive any day now.
Thank you, Ann, for adding your warm thoughts and experience. Deep gratitude.
The best poems blur the lines between here and there; then and now; us and them. This is one of them.
Thank you so much, Dan. That means a lot.
Simply beautiful! Shine on, Stephen <3
Thank you, Violet!
“Given a home on earth.” Your poem brings many memories for me too. The barn, the milking, squirting the cats … these are memories of home. This also reminds me of the spiritual, “This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through, my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.” How fortunate for those of us who were given a home here. (There are those whose homes have been ripped away from them!) – love the reflection on the psalm.
Thanks so much, Sam.
Masterfully written ?. I so enjoy reading your work – it is so evocative. I do not sure your experiences of the farm but can see it in your words.
Did not mean to have the question mark! ?
No worries, this web theme can’t seem to figure out the heart emoji.
Thanks so much, Sue.