Thanks Sheenagh Pugh, British Poet and Novelist for this poem below. For your pointing to the times when small things and big things work out, arriving with their teaching and compassion, with their harshness needed to get to the deeply inner.
The roses above — I picked these on the weekend in my yard from a fallen rose bush under the heavy frost of the changing season where I live. Beauty in the fallen. Yet picked and dried, to be loved.
Thanks Katharine Weinmann, from whose thoughtful blog, A Wabi-Sabi Life, I recently read this Pugh poem (and to Parker Palmer who posted it earlier, and has been teacher through his writings many times for me).
Sometimes, the thriving, the just-right nudging happens with a belly-share here and a belly-share there.
In celebration of the little things that go just right, welcoming celebration.
Sometimes things don’t go, after all,
from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel
faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail.
Sometimes a man aims high, and all goes well.
A people sometimes will step back from war,
elect an honest man; decide they care
enough, that they can’t leave some stranger poor.
Some men become what they were born for.
Sometimes our best efforts do not go
amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to.
The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow
that seemed hard frozen; may it happen for you.