The Universe Began

The universe began,

a single point, containing everything

necessary to become the universe

with planets and stars, our own earth and us,

expanding outward and cooling as it grew

to form what we are 13 billion years later,

evolving as it went, a long process;

or the wave of a hand and in six days

forming it all, day and night and the animals

and plants, and man and woman, mated,

resting, finally, on the seventh day,

creation a tiring business;

but we go to war over all these origins, one

against all the other theories and who is responsible,

as if one and one only can be right and the others,

wrong, a battle of beliefs, like any war, proving nothing.

But the HOW is far less important than NOW,

for here we are, regardless of the plans,

all the planning that got us here, orderly,

logically, well-reasoned, a purpose achieved,

a world in balance, dynamic and constantly changing,

a universe still seeking perfection; now, how

to move beyond ourselves, to maintain this order

and balance, seeking still perfection, seeking still ourselves,

open to the universe and creation’s becoming. 

Moving to a Small Town

There aren’t any leprechauns here

            nor the northern woodland gnome,

no mythical creatures with horns or a genie

            in a lamp to grant us health and goodwill,

but there are ghosts here, thriving

            in the memories of the townfolk,

the names and places, people

            and shops on Main Street, long since gone,

that I will never know, never

            remember, but they haunt me

in my not knowing, failing this test

            of living here, required knowledge:

you remember Bob, and Gladys, lived

            up on the hill by Joe’s?

sure you do, ran the gas station;

            and the old post office, the general

store, and Leona’s restaurant next door?

            she made the best biscuits,

these ghosts of their past, haunting

            me, an outsider moving in. 

At the end of a winter's day

spent shoveling the remains

of a storm, wet, heavy snows

that exhaust one’s aching arms,

a cup of coffee at hand and

the quiet of a darkened room,

there’s a sense of completeness,

order, the peace of a good job done,

relaxing at the end of a winter’s

day spent shoveling snow.

The Countdown

We have the days counted until Spring,

give or take the Ground Hog’s calculation,

timid beast that he is, afraid of his own shadow,

but we have a countdown started, marked

on our calendars, crossing the days off until the snow

is gone, almost gone, well, mostly gone, and the green

grass takes root and the early flowers start shooting up,

crocuses and daffodil, winter heath and snow drops;

the robins have returned, and the ice is “out,” someone richer

for having guessed that exact day and time, or close;

behind us now are the days of boxing up the winter hats

and gloves and mittens, our winter coats moved to the attic,

the garage, wherever we safely store them, unneeded,

and the layering clothes replaced with t-shirts and shorts,

the lightweight clothes of spring and summer, winter gone

and autumn too far ahead to think of it … but

winter is not done, not yet, still “winter” on the calendar,

February and March’s lion and lamb and April’s

showers, another storm coming, a few more inches

of snow and cold and the sore backs and arms from shoveling,

the snowbanks grown too high and the snow too deep, cursing

now the season, but there is still time for the winter sports

we anticipated, praying for snow and ice, prepared for them

last October and November when we shut up the camp,

stocked full the wood box and lay in provisions

for the long dark season ahead, ready for winter

and sweaters and hot chocolate on a cold dark night,

or the peace of a walk in the falling snow, silent around us.

But it is coming, spring is, just as winter did

and autumn before that, each season in its own time, in turn,

as it does every year, marked now on our calendars, circled,

this countdown of the weeks and days remaining, giving us hope,

something new to look forward to, as we do each new season,

counting down until the next one, eagerly waiting, anticipating.