"Nature" is what we see

"Nature" is what we see --

by Emily Dickinson

"Nature" is what we see --
The Hill -- the Afternoon --
Squirrel -- Eclipse -- the Bumble bee --
Nay -- Nature is Heaven --
Nature is what we hear --
The Bobolink -- the Sea --
Thunder -- the Cricket --
Nay -- Nature is Harmony --
Nature is what we know --
Yet have no art to say --
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

Without nature I would go crazy!  I am very happy to live in a small town close to nature.  Though deer and skunks wandering around town gets very old.

JOAN THE MAID

JOAN THE MAID (a villanelle)

By Michael Fantina

A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade
To drive the hated foe into the sea.
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.
At Orleans she broke the tight blockade,
The fleeing English shouted, "Sorcery!"
A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade.
She broke the English lines. Her men obeyed,
Went up the scaling ladders, breathlessly.
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.
She crowned a crownless king, who then betrayed
This pious girl from distant Domremy.
A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade.
They led her to that sullen promenade,
Where stake and faggots wait portentously.
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.
Her martyr's death the Living God repaid.
A girl, she speaks to us from History,
A well-armed sylph she led a vast crusade,
The world recalls the tale of Joan The Maid.

sylph: a slender graceful woman or girl (I had to look that one up)

For Love of Saint Joan or Ode To The Soldier Joan

For Love of Saint Joan or Ode To The Soldier Joan
by Virginia Frohlick
The cock did crow on that blessed and holy night.
His call rang forth news of great joy in the land filled with blight.
For in that dark and empty sky there but shone one star bright!
The Maid, the savior of France, was born to stun the sight!

As a child of God, she grew straight and true in her faith.
And in that simple little village she learned to pray.
Little did she know that God would have a hand in her fate.
That she would lead an army, His will to obey.

In her father's garden, she saw her holy vision's display.
She listened to their sacred counsel in wide-eyed wonder.
It would come to pass that she would heed their voice until her final day.
And her name would ride across France in a roar of thunder.

To Vaucouleurs, that little town, she one day did ride.
Where Squire Robert and his knights, Bertrand and Jean, did 'bide.
To ask them humbly to help to turn the raging English tide.
To help her to that far off place, Chinon, where the Dauphin did hide.

The Squire girded on, around her waist a sword of gold.
"Let come what may, your story must be told."
The small band sallied forth with spirit bold.
Their faith in her did soar despite the windy cold.

Through dangers untold they rode till they came to Chinon.
Straight way she went to the Dauphin and spoke of what should be.
"God bless thee, gentle Dauphin. Thou shalt have liberty.
I shall lead thy army and break thy heavy bond."

While in silent prayer her soul would soar before the throne of God.
On a milk-white charger she sallied forth with banner in hand.
With the goodly purpose of delivering her war torn land.
"Forward to victory!" she said to her men. "For so will's Our Lord and God!"

The English, around Orleans, were eager the French to slay.
Her army was prepared to give the English their just pay.
The valiant French fought, died, and won on the eighth of May.
And a grateful people would remember with pride that blessed day.

Comrades in arms she had three; Dunois, Alençon and La Hire.
To Orleans, Jargeau, Meung, Beaugency they rode without fear.
They followed wherever she led. Together they avenged the French defeat at Poitiers.
In the English camp they trembled for they knew their end was near.

"Do not tarry here any longer but come to the worthy town.
Listen not, my Dauphin, to those who would lead you astray.
But come straight way to the holy city of Reims and take thy crown.
You have nothing to fear; I have already cleared the way."

Grandly dressed people in fabric rich, blue, red and yellow.
To Reims Cathedral came for Charles' coronation.
As the organ played its notes so pure and mellow.
They watched the Dauphin --- NOW THE KING, in envious admiration!

Emotion over came her and to her knees she fell.
"My good King, you are crowned; my work here is done."
"Arise my child, good news, your parents to you have come.
Now go to them, my child, with all your love to tell."

She darted across the darkened room; into their open arms she flew.
Gently she pressed her kisses upon their elderly brow, so lavishly.
And with tears and warm embraces they hug, so affectionately.
There in that dark little room, the brightness of their love showed through.

But their content would not last because of Duke de la Tremoille.
To deceive the naive Charles so that he could France betray.
Into a false and lying truce, with England and Burgundy.
And in doing so leave to the enemy, Joan as prey.

"I must go to Compiegne, the enemy there to fight!"
Heading her small band, she led straight into the enemies' might.
While in the jaws of battle, she was untimely taken.
Though in Burgundian hands her great spirit was not shaken.

Sold to the mighty English King for ten thousand gold pounds.
Taken like a savage animal in an iron cage through French towns.
Until she reached a dark, damp hole --- the Rouen prison!
There she suffered five torturous months, never to know the sun!

To win the Archbishopric of Rouen, his fondest wish,
So to gain, Bishop Cauchon would obey the scheming English.
And so because of this, he would betray a girl to her doom.
And have the pitiless flames of the stake be her tomb.

It was May and the birds took wing and soared into the sky.
"Joan, you have led yourself to your own excommunication!"
For her King who had left her thus, there was no condemnation.
Nor in that bleak empty moment was there any question --- Why?

Chained tight to that rough stake she shed many mournful tears.
For she knew that her cruel and woeful death was near.
She looked for a glimpse of hope, but found only English jeers.
The time had come for her final victory --- over fear!

Her eyes upturned, she saw Him Who had died for us.
And in a loud clear voice, she cried out, "JESUS, JESUS!"
That soul made free to soar, rose up in the form of a dove.
To Him Who had sent her, to tell the world of His love.

When the world is dark and empty will they remember
Saint Joan of Arc, that gentle little soldier, so brave and free?
When men's hearts are devoid of hope, will they remember
The Maid, the savior of France, who fought for liberty?

I missed yesterday.  The cord to my laptop stopped supplying power and the battery went dead.  My youngest daughter's presentation of Joan of Arc was on it and her presentation was today!  We borrowed a cord from her teacher and got the presentation printed.  So the theme for today, which should have been yesterday is Joan of Arc.

Patience Taught By Nature

Patience Taught By Nature

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

'O DREARY life,' we cry, ' O dreary life! '
And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven's true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle ! Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land, savannah-swards
Unweary sweep, hills watch unworn, and rife
Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory: O thou God of old,
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these!--
But so much patience as a blade of grass
Grows by, contented through the heat and cold.

I have heard much moaning about cold, snow, and ice and I am sometimes guilty as well.  But, no matter how much we moan and groan, "the generations of the birds" still come and go.  Trees grow new leaves and drop them.  New growth, old growth, no growth the seasons turn and turn again, yet often we keep up the old cry of "O dreary life!"  Nature is a patience maker.

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

There is Another Sky by Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

Another sky sans clouds tonight and the temperature is dropping.  Outside the gardens are frozen and inside the baby tomato plants are snug in their little greenhouse.

Winter in Durnover Field by Thomas Hardy

Winter in Durnover Field by Thomas Hardy

Scene.--A wide stretch of fallow ground recently sown with wheat, and
frozen to iron hardness. Three large birds walking about thereon,
and wistfully eyeing the surface. Wind keen from north-east: sky a
dull grey.

(Triolet)

Rook.--Throughout the field I find no grain;
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!
Starling.--Aye: patient pecking now is vain
Throughout the field, I find . . .
Rook.--No grain!
Pigeon.--Nor will be, comrade, till it rain,
Or genial thawings loose the lorn land
Throughout the field.
Rook.--I find no grain:
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!

I am sure the birds around here are saying "no grain" because it snowed most the day.  I went for a walk today with my youngest son (21).  The snow was lightly falling when we first started the two mile loop, but soon the wind was blowing from the north and the snow came thicker and thicker.  The only birds we noticed were a pair of great horned owls we heard while passing a wooded area at 2:14 in the afternoon. 

Day Seven

Birds at Winter Nightfall (Triolet) by Thomas Hardy

Around the house the flakes fly faster,
And all the berries now are gone
From holly and cotoneaster
Around the house. The flakes fly!--faster
Shutting indoors that crumb-outcaster
We used to see upon the lawn
Around the house. The flakes fly faster,
And all the berries now are gone!

It snowed here again last night.  No, it dumped, but the sun came out and dazzled us this morning! 

Day Six

Lines For Winter

by Mark Strand

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself --
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon's gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

I love the phrases: "dome of dark" and "the small fire of winter stars."  Let's all keep going and telling ourselves that we love what we are all through our lives.

Day Five

                         When Winter Waned the World

Ever changing

always the same

snow to ice  

white, white, white.

Reflecting light

collecting none

on and on and on

until one day…

Winter waned the world

and softened up its grasp

first on the southern slopes

of mullein and toadflax.

Then green shone from the lawn

and rivulets sang, we’re free!

The quail came down all in a row

for gravel and some greens.

In a glade upon the hill

where the sun stroke rich and warm

a ladybug and leafhopper

awoke near an old cistern.

The hawk spread wide his wings

and sailed low across the field

mice shook off their frosty domes

to see what brown would yield.

The solitary heron

stood guard upon her stilts

and faded, slowly faded

as the snow began to melt.

The cliffs, all dressed in black

sang out a creaking song

an echo of an answer

and then the frogs were gone.

 For the brilliant winter sun

ducked behind the highest peak

and the deer began their journey

from the hill down to the creek.

Their sharp hooves speared the earth

and churned up narrow trails

with the coming of the darkness

their journey never fails.

High in a ponderosa

great horned owl winked an eye

then turned his head to listen

and answer another’s cry

Wings without a whisper

he flew to another tree

called out to his neighbor

and she answered, I agree.

Winter softly sighed

as the stars shone one by one

and I am truly Thankful

though winter is not done.

Rhae A. Eaton

Day Four

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly

they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine

how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard.  I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Here is another of Mary Oliver's.  She is one of my favorites.  She writes of nature, as here, using the harsh season of winter.  She writes of emotion, of grief, that harsh combatant that must be faced and gone through, as those of us who do not travel south must face winter and get through it, though we may want our boots "to leave the ground" and head for sunny places.

I find that a great way to play along with winter is to just get out and walk.  There is a trail near here that I frequent with my family.  A week ago three of us went and winter was playing hide and seek with spring!  We heard great horned owls calling to each other (They begin nesting in February)!  We saw a pair of hawks soaring high in the blue, blue sky.  Red winged blackbirds gave their cheery call.  And treasure of all treasures, we observed a pileated woodpecker finding dinner!  That was a moment to be glad of winter, because if the trees weren't bare we wouldn't be able to see it as well.

Day Three

 Robert Frost

To The Thawing Wind

Come with rain. O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
make the settled snowbank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do tonight,
bath my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ice will go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

Robert Frost
A Boy's Will
1913

Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Come on Chinook!  Bring your warm winds and be done with the white stuff!  Let us all be turned out of door!"

Day Two

Wild Geese


by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

This is sooo awesome!  None of us is perfect.  And we have trials we have gone through or are going through now.  Nature is a wonderful healing place.

Here is Day Two!  A bit later in the day, but that's ok.  We had snow here again today so we aren't ready for the wild geese yet.

Day One

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

by Billy Collins

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

I can relate to the disruption of concentration that a barking dog (especially a high pitched little dog) can create.  I need silence to create.  I live in an apartment and can hear all sorts of noises, including the yipping dog in a yard a block away.  I hear the dog with my windows shut! 

The transition to an oboe section is a delight and I can just picture that little rascal with his staccato input.  Beethoven was an "innovative genius" and Billy Collins is a poetic genius!

Poem copied from http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/billy_collins/poems/11282