Invisible Poem: A Meditation on the Mountain

This writing was inspired by time I spent this summer at the Big Spring at South Gate Meadow in Mount Shasta, CA. I so love the timelessness of being in nature in this way. I offer this poem as a reminder of that which remains wordless . . . Enjoy!

MossStoneVarghona

Photo credit: iStockphoto.com/Varghona

Invisible Poem

Today I sit
and wait.

Pen poised, poem patient.

Bright green moss
merges with smooth stones
in the mountain stream.

Bumblebees hum softly
flower to flower, dip
into crimson orange
of an Indian Paintbrush.

Clouds color a hazy sky
with gradients of gray.

This is the beauty
poems are made of . . .

But not today.

Today I sit
and wait.

Pen poised,
poem patient,
I wonder
if I can ever be
slow enough
to write the present
before it becomes the past.
If I can ever be
that patient.

Pen poised, I sit.

And sit.

Page blank as clouds float.
Page blank as bees drink.
Page blank as moss grows.

It is the truest verse
I have ever
not written.


7-25-14
Jennifer Mathews

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Who Will Notice? Paying Attention to What Matters

Today I woke up in a funk. I felt a bit overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do next, even though my list was long. To clear my head (or more likely to procrastinate), I decided to go for a short walk.

Photo by Jennifer Mathews 2014

Photo credit: Jennifer Mathews © 2014

Behind my house there is a narrow path along a steep embankment. Following it leads you through the trees and eventually to Lake Siskiyou. I’ve been out of town recently and hadn’t walked here for at least a month.

When I got to the back of my neighbor’s house, two doors down, the path had been raked smooth. It’s typically covered with long pine needles, sticks and small rocks. But I could see fine lines in the dirt from a rake, like a Zen sand garden. The fact that someone took the time and care to maintain the trail felt so welcoming. My mood started to shift.

In the fall, I had also found the whole trail spruced up this way. It touched me then, too, and I told people about it for weeks. A quarter-mile long path raked without recognition, a random act of beautification.