Safe Passage

A heron could teach me something about patience and waiting. Often she stands perfectly still for long periods of time at the edge of a wetland, stalking her prey. These days I am less than patient and often restless with the unknowns. The best medicine for me is to limit my news intake and go outdoors. Every morning I step out onto the deck and take a few deep breaths and remind myself of my good fortune. Sunday morning I stepped around the hail and mess of a storm that drastically changed the weather and offered Easter snow flurries. This week is cold and windy in Nebraska so I bundle up in my winter coat and warm woolens. I am glad I procrastinated with the washing prior to summer storage.

I finished Kate's shawl and will block it this week. I hope to make some progress on this sweater while the days are cool and a blob of wool still feels good in my lap. The shaping is interesting. A designer who can transform an idea into a pattern is a marvel. This photo shows the beginning of the A-line shaping of the body.

In her book, Finding Beauty in a Broken World, Terry Tempest Williams wrote about the tradition of a container for tears to honor grief. Several years ago, I wrote a group of poems about containers. I publish this one in honor of poetry month.


I Would Craft a Container*

I would craft a container to honor empty and full,
     dark and light, summer and winter:

A cradle for space between stitches,
     caesura between lines, windbreak in the grass

An envelope for words fragile as the tiny white
     feather lost in a prairie gale

A basket to shelter postcards carried by the wind
     or messages from earthworm and tiny dry leaf

An empty nest for gray sky and bright sunshine,
     a container for safe passage through ordinary days.

*copyright Jane A. Wolfe

As I link to Kat and the other Unravelers, I wish you a safe passage to ordinary days.