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2023 in Review: Blogging and a Bit More

I wrote so much more in 2023 compared with 2022. Setting up some recurring themes and columns gave me structure that I stuck with, and my morning poetry reading practice gave me fodder for a variety of collections. I wrote only three posts in 2021, not at all in 2020.

We live with the presence of COVID with few precautions now, and I still haven't had it. Thank you, scientists who developed the vaccine and boosters! I still mask on airplanes where I'm sitting in close proximity to strangers for hours, or when I'm around someone else who is masking, figuring they're immunocompromised or live with someone who is and I can provide that additional level of protection. I write this because I don't want to forget in future years that it was still present, still killing people, still affecting our lives. 

I'm still teleworking nearly 100% of the time, with a few more in-person meetings with my work team as it grows. That growth doesn't show up in my blogging since this is all personal, but it's been amazing and wonderful to recruit so much talent this year, with a few more positions to fill in the new year. 

This is all thanks to the passage a couple of years back of the Climate Commitment Act, which has made it possible for the Washington state legislature to invest far more in clean, green active transportation along with transit, rail, ferries, and alternative fuels. I'm motivated in my work every day by the knowledge that the planet is genuinely on fire and we have to take action if we are ever to bend that deadly curve, and also by my knowledge that the number of people dying on our roads in crashes is also going up and we need to bend that deadly curve too. The work I lead offers solutions to both of these enormous challenges, along with giving more people access to the joy and freedom of bicycling and the community connections of walking or rolling. I feel so lucky to be always doing work I believe in.

January: I kicked off the year with a preview of the bike events and challenges for the year, Reasons to Ride in 2023: A Forecast of Biking to Come. I was still doing physical therapy for the wrist I broke in September 2022 but was finally able to get on my bike. Living in Olympia means my winter riding has more to do with rain than with snow, but either way Riding Always Makes Me Happy. Yes, Always. The end of January brought another of our now-routine weekend walks to the farmers' market and a happy discovery: Walking in January: Of Gloves and Poetry

February: Over on my bike blog I decided to start re-upping some of the older posts that still resonate for me and that aren't too dated. Hence Riding Down Memory Lane: February, which launched a monthly series that highlights that month's bike events and my old posts from that month. I retooled some of a keynote speech I made last fall into a column, How Am I Going to Get There? Why We Need Each Other. In one of those cross-fertilizations the world wide web makes possible, a prompt from an online community led to sharing a photo of my grandma's old rocker in a different online space, which came together in The Rocker. I've written so much about bicycling over the years that I decided my January post on my walks should become the first in a series to celebrate the experiences of moving more slowly. Knowing I'd be writing about my walks led me to greater mindfulness and attention to small details that showed up in Walking in February: Of Woods and Water. This one commemorates a great weekend trip with friends to Lake Quinault, and I'll be going back. So, so beautiful.

March: Continuing the events/blog post review series on Bike Style, I published Riding Down Memory Lane: March. Harking back to the bikespedition posts I used to produce when I lived in Spokane, I produced what I hope is the first of many pieces about places to ride in Olympia, Olympia Bikespedition: Poetry and Art, Eastside EditionWalking in March: Of Woods and Work had me in a different forest than my February walk, still appreciating the beauties large and small all around me in the park near our home. I'd been collecting links to poems I encountered in my morning reading and saving up until I had enough for “Safe passage through countless intersections”: A Baker’s Dozen of Transportation Poems

April: You guessed it—Riding Down Memory Lane: April kicked off the month. A trip to DC for a conference resulted in Walking in April: Of Multimodal Miles and Museums. Later that month, some proof that social media may be dying but isn't dead, since some folks on both the dying bird site (Twitter) and Mastodon made contributions to Hashtag Bikes, a round-up of (some of) the many, many hashtags bikey folks use when talking about our favorite invention online. I had the fun of being a co-leader with friend Stefanie of my neighborhood's ride to join the Earth Day Market Ride. The ride is organized by Duncan Green, long-time staff at Intercity Transit whom I first met back when I worked at Washington Bikes. I commemorated this fun little ride with Biking in Olympia: Earth Day Market Ride.

May: Riding Down Memory Lane: May had to happen since May is National Bike Month. Maybe I should have published a round-up of bike poems to celebrate; instead it was “Do Not Drive Through, This Poem’s In The Way”: Transportation Poems Keep Rolling In. A conference in Seattle (yes, my job involves going to lots and lots of conferences) led to Walking in May: Of Downtowns and Dancing.

June: More bike events and older posts in Riding Down Memory Lane: June. This was a prolific month for writing, or at least I published more posts than usual. Some posts take longer to develop because they involve more research so I may start in one month and publish in a later month, as with South Sound Short & Sweet Bike Tour. I haven't gone on this tour; I was laying out the options and inviting comments from people who've lived and ridden in this part of the state longer than I and who might have advice I need to make it better (or ditch the idea). The poetry collections on this site carry more of my personal thoughts than the ones on Bike Style. Making Soup: A Pot Full of Poems is another post that had been growing over time.  I had fun with Choose Your Own Adventure: Creating your Version of an Athlon and learned a few new Greek words along the way. A bike ride on Sweetie, my road bike that has been fairly neglected since I got Zelda the e-bike, led to Riding Thoughts: Privilege Is a Tailwind, which I actually recorded as a draft on my phone while I rode so I wouldn't lose the idea. (I have a bone induction headset that comes in very handy at a time like this.) I really can't stop with the poetry collections, hence Yes, Even More Transportation Poems. I wrapped the month with Walking in June: Of Habits and Herons

July: Riding Down Memory Lane: July kicked off another month that wasn't only posts in the series I'd started. Writing about my walking every month led to Why I Walk. Going through my bookcases and looking at all the books I've collected over the years resulted in Bike Books I Recommend: Policy Edition, along with some drafts of posts on other themes I found in going through a good-sized collection. We kept walking, of course, so of course I wrote Walking in July: Of Findings and Feathers. I kept reading poetry and found More Poems on the Bike Rack to share.

August: This was a delightful month! Riding Down Memory Lane: August kicked it off. Not sure it was a great idea to start doing the same kind of look-back at older posts on this blog that was I doing on Bike Style, but I did: Reruns: August Posts Worth Revisiting. I highlighted a ride I was planning to do later in the month hoping to get more folks to register: Wheeling Sea to Sound. Since my Bike Style blog is evolving to include some pieces on transportation generally I reposted Why I Walk there. So much is (always) going on in the world that I had yet another poetry round-up, We Are the Ones We've Been Waiting For: Poems for Activists and Advocates. I celebrated the freedom bicycling gives me in Setting My Own Pace. At work we were in the early phase of research for a new program and getting a lot of questions about it so we shared what little we could in Hold onto your handlebars, we’ll soon charge ahead with e-bike programs, co-written with our great summer intern Brooke Nelson. And then it was time for that wonderful bike ride! I headed to Port Angeles for Wheeling Sea to Sound, Day OneWheeling Sea to Sound, Day Two, and Wheeling Sea to Sound, Day Three. Ride organizer Ian Mackay and crew put together an amazing experience! I wrapped up the month with Walking in August: Of Sparkles and Shorelines

September: I guess June, July and August wore me out. This was a light month with Riding Down Memory Lane: September on Bike Style, Reruns: September Posts Worth Revisiting here, and Walking in September: Of Berries and Bunnies

October: I got my blogging mojo back thanks to one of my favorite bike "challenges". Before that, though, Riding Down Memory Lane: October and Reruns: October Posts Worth Revisiting. And then, drum roll please....#Coffeeneuring Is Rolling! I did the very first coffeeneuring and have kept trying over the years, as I tallied up in Coffeeneuring 2011-2022: My Track Record for Bike Rides to Coffee Just Because. Another conference, this one in Kansas City, Missouri, and a research project I signed up for that involves (surprise!) taking regular breaks for short walks produced Walking in October: Of Travel and Timers. So okay, if I'm walking a lot and writing about it, no surprise that I published Walking Poems. All that walking should help me stay healthy, right? But the clock keeps ticking and the calendar pages keep flipping by, so as I headed toward my November birthday I ended this month with It Beats the Alternative: Poems on Growing Older. This was also the month I moved into a temporary AirBnB set-up so our home remodeling could take place without my boss and alpha cat Mr. Stripey Pants "helping" by growling at the carpenters, and so I could work in peace while my sweetie stayed on site to address any questions. (Tiggs is my boss because cats don't have owners, they have staff.) My walks are taking off from a different place these days, still close to the beautiful Squaxin Park.

November: There really are bike events every single month of the year so I kept going with my bike even/old post boosting in Riding Down Memory Lane, along with Reruns: November Posts Worth Revisiting. The coffeeneuring challenge extends over two months so it wasn't until this month that I could write #Coffeeneuring 2023: Success! I often find myself singing (sometimes an earworm, sometimes a song I really like) as I ride, which led to Bike Song Playlist: Tunes to Get You Rolling. Yet another conference (and I haven't even mentioned them all here) shows up in Walking in November: Of Perspectives and Pavement. Unfortunately this particular conference gave me a souvenir I didn't want: a horrendous case of the flu that had me really sick for over 10 days and still hacking and coughing another week and a half as I slowly recovered.

December: And so, to the end of the calendar year, starting with Riding Down Memory Lane: December. Another poetry collection, The Quotidian: Poems Celebrating the Everyday, the Ordinary, because the "everyday" world is genuinely amazing and worthy of sonnets. Another round-up here, Reruns: December Posts Worth Revisiting, and another peek at my bookshelves with Bike Books I Recommend: Art, Cartoons, Deep Thoughts, Miscellany. A question in the grateful.org online community made me ponder What I Stand For. As with last year, I approached the winter solstice in search of ways of reflecting on "the dusk of the year" with Winter Solstice Readings and More. I'm still in that AirBnB while our home is transformed and it's going to be wonderful! In the meantime I'm appreciating the easy park access for my walks: Walking in December: Of Mosses and Memories

That brings us to this final post of the year, taking a look back and reflecting on what kind of writing I want to do in the new year on both blogs. I'll let the reruns run their course and I can promise you more poetry collections for sure. In between, who knows? Once we're back in the house with a beautiful new kitchen I have a feeling I may produce some recipes and thoughts on cooking. I can tell you there will be another post about Grandma's rocker.

On the other hand, at the end of my 2019 blogging in review post I was looking forward to a shiny new 2020 that was going to be full of wonderfulness. Maybe it's better not to lay too many long-range plans.

Walking in December: Of Mosses and Memories

"A close encounter with a mossy log always makes me think of entering a fantasy fabric shop. Its windows overflow with rich textures and colors that invite you closer to inspect the bolts of cloth arrayed before you."

— Robin Wall Kimmerer, Gathering Moss: A Natural and Cultural History*


I remember camping trips as a child with my parents and my younger sister walking through a forest in Oregon or Washington or northern California or British Columbia, loving the moss and deciding to bring some home to plant so I could grow it. I put a small patch of moss in a plastic cup, carefully keeping it damp all the way home, only to learn that mosses won't thrive in the hot weather of Lewiston, Idaho, a part of the state known as the "Banana Belt" for its long growing season (and distinct lack of evergreen forests).


"Mosses are not elevator music; they are the intertwined threads of a Beethoven quartet."

— Robin Wall Kimmerer

Here in Olympia in the sheltered inland marine climate of western Washington the mosses thrive. Every walk through Squaxin Park wraps me in their rich emerald softness. These tiniest of plants blanket logs, standing trees, the seemingly frail limbs of bushes, stones, the ground, the edges of curbs and stormwater access covers on the sidewalks leading to the park. I stop and step closer to a giant tree, my eyes trying to distinguish the different types twined together. 

"...the already gorgeous world becomes even more beautiful the closer you look."

— Robin Wall Kimmerer


On a December walk in the park with my sweetheart, he commented on something I hadn't noticed before: The mosses are thick on the deciduous trees, while the trunks of the Western redcedar and other evergreens are for the most part bare of all but a pale green lichen, at least for the living trees. The bases of some evergreens have moss growing up from the ground but they don't appear to be the hospitable hosts that the big-leaf maples and other deciduous trees are. 

Not long after moving close to Squaxin Park I discovered the Telephone of the Wind: an old-fashioned wall-mount rotary phone on a piece of plywood. The telephone is mounted next to a giant tree at the end of a short side trail that goes only to the tree and back again. Placed there in memory of four-year-old Joelle Sylvester, who died unexpectedly, the phone is a tangible symbol of reaching out to loved ones who have died. When you pick it up and place it to your ear the effect is similar to listening to a seashell: your ear detects a gentle sighing, something more than silence.


We moved to Olympia in fall 2020; back then I visited there to "talk" with my brother Don, who died too young in 2016. Since then my list of people to remember at the tree has grown, all of them people who died long before their time: my niece Amanda, my cousin's son Nate, my former stepson Alex.

Sometimes when I walk down the trail someone else is there, receiver pressed to their head, talking quietly and gently to someone they miss, and I turn around and leave them in peace. About two years ago I placed a small rock there I had painted with hearts. Other memorial leavings come and go; the park staff ask us to leave only natural materials. My heart rock remains, nestled on the ground with other gifts and surrounded by woods full of mosses, mosses everywhere.


Related Reading




*I 100% believe you should support your local bookstore and library. I include links to Bookshop.org in case those aren't available to you, and to introduce you to a way you can order online while still benefitting a local bookseller. If I ever receive any commission on book sales through these links, proceeds will be donated to organizations supporting social justice and safer streets for people walking, rolling, and riding.

Winter Solstice Readings and More

I wrote a post for winter solstice 2022 with a collection of poems, quotations, and other things to read on the shortest night of the year, also known as Yule (possibly from the Old Norse word jõl, which was their solstice festival). A year later, here we are again with darkness and light changing their balance. Given that the movements of sun, moon and earth have been observed and experienced by humans since before recorded history it's quite possible that the solstice celebrations are the oldest ritual observances in the world.

This year I'm going beyond readings to engage some other senses, although in doing some of the explorations for this post I learned one of the Persian winter solstice traditions is to read poetry and I'm not leaving it out. 

The Persian phrase "shab-e yald" means "night of birth." One of the Persian traditions  for shab-e yald involves "Fal e Hafez." In that practice a person opens a copy of the Diwan e Hafez, the book of poetry by Hafez, and reads the last verse of whatever poem is on that page. This is received as a prediction of their destiny for the coming year. What might you find looking into one of your favorite books, whether or not it's poetry, if you practiced a bit of bibliomancy?

Sound: This year I give you a soundtrack to go with the readings: the album A Winter's Solstice by Windham Hill that I first listened to years ago. They have a whole series so you can keep listening with A Winter's Solstice II and beyond.

Taste: To take your Yule to the next level you may want to bake a yule log cake, also known as a Bûche De Noël in French. I tried to years ago and didn't make it across the line with the meringue mushroom decorations and all the rest, but maybe someday.

Photo of the Celtic triskellion spiral at Newgrange. From the center, three lines spiral out to form circular lobes, similar to a clover leaf.
Touch:
 From an article on the winter solstice in the Irish tradition I learned the triskelion spiral is associated with some of the ancient standing stones and tombs that align with the sun's position on solstice, although they pre-date the arrival of the Celts by about 2,500 years. Early in the pandemic I found WayStones, a shop that makes labyrinth balls and flat pieces, both of which can be traced with your finger. The flat piece I bought back then got broken and I've been meaning to replace it; I'll watch for when she has one of her triskelion pieces in colors I want. 

Balance: Why include "balance" on a list organized around the senses? Your senses provide input telling you where and how you are in the world. Your sense of balance has multiple sources in the body; it's an important and often overlooked form of input. However, it's not overlooked if you have vertigo attacks, which I do occasionally, or long-term vertigo. (Recommended reading: Balance: In Search of the Lost Sense, by Scott McCredie.)

Walking a labyrinth is a form of touch, with your feet on the ground, as well as an exercise in balance as you spiral inward and out again. Read Antonia Malchik's beautiful piece, "The Gravity of a Labyrinth," and find labyrinths near you with this labyrinth locator.

Sight: Some of the imagery associated with druidic beliefs involve the Holly King (symbolized by a wren and ruling from Midsummer to Midwinter) being defeated by the Oak King (symbolized by a robin and ruling from Midwinter to Midsummer). Mistletoe is also associated with this day since it is green through the winter, symbolizing the continuation of life. This explains some of those "Christmas" card designs with holly, mistletoe, and birds.

And now for some poetry—as always, I'm providing a link to the full poem and providing an excerpt here.

Poetry

"Winter Solstice" by Ray McNiece

Late December grinds on down.
The sky stops, slate on slate,
scatters a cold light of snow
across a field of brittle weeds.

"Yule Winter Prayer" by Patti Wiginton
From the reaches of the north,
A place of cold beauty,
Comes to us the first winter storm.

"Winter Solstice" by Hilda Morley

A cold night crosses
our path
                  The world appears
very large, very
round now       extending
far as the moon does

"At Winter Solstice" by Dolores Stewart Riccio

Now we go comforted
in dreams and ceremonies,
flaming our star-speck candles,
raising our voices against that other music,
drowning out the forever
at night’s heart.

"Winter Solstice Chant" by Annie Finch (this is the entire poem)

Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
now you are uncurled and cover our eyes
with the edge of winter sky
leaning over us in icy stars.
Vines, leaves, roots of darkness, growing,
come with your seasons, your fullness, your end.

"Winter Solstice 2019" by Diane Di Prima

The fact is: the Light will increase
It always does
Whether we think it should
or not. No matter how determined
we are to be gloomy.

"Solstice" by Barbara Crooker

And this is the shortest day of the year.
Still, in almost every window,
a single candle burns,
there are tiny white lights
on evergreens and pines,
and the darkness is not complete.

"A Winter Solstice Prayer" by Edward Hays

May we find hope in the lights we have kindled on this sacred night,
hope in one another and in all who form the web-work of peace and justice
that spans the world.

"Shab-e Yalda" by Passim

A shadow casts across a closing sky
where crowds will meet to bid the night good-bye.
With hushed excitement, waiting now respite;
in silence but for night hawks eerie cry.

Susan Cooper was one of my favorite authors long, long ago with her series The Dark Is Rising. She also wrote a children's book, The Shortest Day (*affiliate link), with her poem illustrated by Carson Ellis.

"The Shortest Day" by Susan Cooper

And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.

"Winter's Sweet, Sweet Song" by Damh the Bard

And my honouring of a year nearly gone,
In harmony with the Sun,
And Winter’s sweet, sweet song.

In closing, a poem that isn't about the solstice specifically, but seems to fit the longest night of the year. The entire poem is presented here, with a link to the source where I read it.

"What to Do in the Darkness" by Marilyn McEntire

Go slowly
Consent to it
But don't wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn


*I 100% believe you should support your local bookstore and library. I include links to Bookshop.org in case those aren't available to you, and to introduce you to a way you can order online while still benefitting a local bookseller. If I ever receive any commission on book sales through these links, proceeds will be donated to organizations supporting social justice and safer streets for people walking, rolling, and riding.

What I Stand For

An online community I participate in regularly offered up a probing question of the day recently: "What do I stand for?". 

Such a powerful question! I have a feeling this isn't a complete list, but here it is so far:

I stand for kindness: To myself, to others, to the earth and everything that lives on it.

I stand for justice: The recognition that we have had generations of injustice and deep, compounding harms that mean some people start out in a hole dug by official policies and actions and face a steeper climb than others. (Here's a graphic from the LA Metro Design Studio that illustrates equality, equity, and justice much better than the one you may have seen with kids shut out of a ballfield. I don't use the kids-on-boxes graphic, which still leaves the kids outside the fence.)

I stand for accountability: For recognition of my own privilege that I didn't understand until I started unlearning and relearning, and for what I do with that privilege to make a difference. (A couple of my blog posts on privilege and bicycling: Riding Thoughts: Privilege is a Tailwind and Privilege and Biking: It Takes More than a Bike Lane to Start Riding)

I stand for mother love: For my daughters. my stepchildren, and former stepchildren I'm still connected to, and for encouraging them to grow into themselves, not some version tied to what I think they should or shouldn't be or become.

I stand for love: My love for my husband, and every human being's right to love who and how they love.

I stand for friendship: For being someone who is there for hard times, not just fun times, and someone who nurtures friendships with time and attention.

I stand for engagement and connection: In my neighborhood and community, in policy and politics, in philanthropy and volunteering, in the everyday connections I can foster by connecting people to other people, resources, and ideas.

I stand for freedom: For the right to control our own bodies, for the right to be who we are in the world without fear.

I stand for environmental action, both personal and systemic: That is, I make individual choices to live more lightly on the earth but I know that even if everyone did the same we can't offset the actions of corporations and governments that engage in widespread damage and policy decisions that make things worse, rather than better. I'm fortunate that my professional life enables me to truly make a difference and gives me a wider platform, I vote for people who will move us forward toward survival as a species, and I shop locally, including food, to support local living economies.

Fundamentally I stand for making the world a healthier and more equitable place for all: Both close to home and far away, I support with words, actions, and cash the people and organizations making a difference.

Years ago I wrote a post about the 4-H pledge that somewhat relates to this question.

I expect to keep pondering the question and may come back.

What do you stand for?

Related reading:

Reruns: December Posts Worth Revisiting

Naturally, posts written in December often take a look back or a look ahead. I examine intentions. I reminisce. I think about family traditions or create new ones. Something about those short days and long nights encourages introspection. Ponder with me.

The Quotidian: Poems Celebrating the Everyday, the Ordinary

The roots of this collection may go back to my early childhood. We owned a copy of "A Child's Garden of Verses" by Robert Louis Stevenson. I can still envision the Little Golden Book, with its gilt-edged binding and a painting of a small golden-haired girl with a crown of flowers opening the gate in a white picket fence.

When I go back to it now I find the verses incredibly preachy, but one very short piece captures some of the feeling in the poems collected here (setting aside for one moment the many, many tragedies created by monarchies). In its entirety, it reads:

"Happy Thought" by Robert Louis Stevenson

The world is so full of a number of things,
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.

According to Merriam-Webster (whose social media game is ON POINT so they're my go-to dictionary), the word "quotidian" means occurring every day; belonging to each day; commonplace, ordinary. And yet the things around us, the world around us that we might think of as commonplace are simply and actually amazing! Everything from the way a seed grows into a whole entire tree to the many, many people and processes it took for me to have coffee in my cup is incredible, when you stop and think about it for a moment.

Some time ago I read The Art of Noticing, by Rob Walker (Bookshop.org affiliate link*), and I read his newsletter. The book and his columns provide suggestions for how you might apply the power and energy of simply noticing to add mindfulness and insight to your days. As one example, standing in one spot waiting for my sweetie to come out of the hardware store I simply looked around and noted every instance of the color blue I could find (clicking on the link takes you to my first tweet in a whole thread.) 


What is both ordinary and amazing in your world? These poems may point you to some of the incredibleness that surrounds and supports your life. 

"Here" by Wislawa Szymborska

I don’t know about other places,
but here on Earth there’s quite a lot of everything.
Here chairs are made and sadness,
scissors, violins, tenderness, transistors,
water dams, jokes, teacups.

"Tribute Poem" by Anne Higgins

for corkscrews,
corkscrew call of
yellowing lustful goldfinches,
butter,
opposable thumbs,

"Credo" by Donna Hilbert

I believe in the Tuesdays
and Wednesdays of life,
the tuna sandwich lunches
and TV after dinner.

"I Believe Nothing" by Katherine Raine

I believe nothing—what need
Surrounded as I am with marvels of what is,
This familiar room, books, shabby carpet on the floor,
Autumn yellow jasmine, chrysanthemums, my mother's flower,
Earth-scent of memories, daily miracles,

"But You Thought You Knew What a Sign Looked Like" by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

We are blessed
by marvels wearing ordinary clothes—
how easily we’re fooled by simple dress—
Oranges. Water. Leaves. Bread. Crows.

"Otherwise" by Jane Hirshfeld

I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.

"The Letter from Home" by Nancyrose Houston

There was a bed, it was
soft, there was a blanket, it was warm, there were dreams,
they were good. 

"Welcome Morning" by Anne Sexton

in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry “hello there, Anne”
each morning,

"Daily" by Naomi Shihab Nye

This page I type and retype
This table I dust till the scarred wood shines
This bundle of clothes I wash and hang and wash again
like flags we share, a country so close
no one needs to name it

"Ode to Things" by Pablo Neruda

I love
all things,
not only the
grand,
but also the infinite-
ly
small:
the thimble,
spurs,
dishes,
vases.

"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider

And the lovely repetition of stairs.
And what is more generous than a window?

"Miracle Fair" by Wislawa Szymborska

First among equal miracles:
cows are cows.

Second to none:
just this orchard
from just that seed.


*If you buy books I hope you support your local independent bookstore. I provide the Bookshop.org links for those who don't have such a store available to them. Any commissions I might ever receive will be donated to organizations advancing social justice and active transportation safety.