making friends with the weather

The earth is exposed and vulnerable,
open to the sky.
Clouds gather, soft and productive.
Already the soil is filtering water to the roots of trees.
Many branches have fallen.
Kindness and recognition make me cry as if
I was lonely or neglected,
as if I were a droughted tree sapping with moisture
that I cannot hold.
My branches fall away.
Soon I’ll be an old gnarled thing
on a ridge top against the sky.
People will say, ‘How beautiful’,
and snap me with their cameras.
They will file me away in memories and albums.
I’ll stand there, decaying to the earth.
Particles of my slow death will fulfil something—
continue something: bugs perhaps, or birds.
May birds nest in me.
May I make friends with the weather.

4 thoughts on “making friends with the weather

  1. Dear Bel,

    How I have missed your poetry. “Making Friends” is one of the most poignant, thought provoking, beautiful

    poems I have ever read.

    As I told Jeff Schwaner,, I would have replied to your poems sooner, but my mouse has been broken,

    and we were finally able to buy a new one! Seriously!

    Am looking forward to your poems and poetic friendship.

    Warmly,

    Ron

    1. Mice…. they are trouble. We have autumn ones invading again. The annual small war. ( suddenly I have an image of swarms of computer mice)
      So glad you like “making friends”. I have been writing again after a long hiatus. Not sure if it’s because I have just finished an exhibition and have finally sent (and had accepted) another poetry book off to the publishers. Lightened the load or something. Or maybe it’s going off the depression meds. It’s a year since our son died. Perhaps the fog is less opaque, at least sometimes.
      Anyhow, I have though of you also from time to time and am glad to see that you are still prolifically poeting.

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