Peace Rant

Peace is being challenged
When you are strong
And encouraged when you are weak.
Peace is not being criticized
When you are doing your best.
Peace is a friend who knows what this is like.
Peace is a do-over,
Peace is a chance.


Peace is starting the day with a full belly
After sleeping under a dry roof.
Peace is clean water.
Peace is a purposeful day;
Something to do
To make the day full.
Peace is a book
To visit in
And a teacher
To learn from.
Peace is having someone to protect you
From those around you
Who do not know peace.

Peace is understanding the struggles of others
And sharing when you can,
And sharing what you have.
Peace is having a friend
And knowing that you are not alone.
Peace is hope
For both of you.

Paul Sanderson

Late November Afternoon

There is a comforting certainty
In this late November afternoon.

The earth is relenting its color
To the sky
With an almost gaudy display
As if to proclaim
Farewell!
Good night, to this departing day.
While life on a smaller scale, close by,
Settles itself
With a hope for rest and renewal.
As it wagers on the dawn.

Mice snuggle
Back to belly
In their milkweed down beds
In appropriated bluebird boxes.
Crows lumber overhead
Crossing the early crescent moon
Soon to roost and whisper secret stories,
While sparrows dart in the underbrush
Making final adjustments in their space,
Giving one last fluff to their feathers
They will cool with the night and be still.
A small bee that a month ago would
Have been lost in a grander world
Of blossoms and flying things
Now sits solitary
On a stray dandelion,
Resting still
Within the grasp
Of those golden teeth.

A slow wind turns a hanging leaf,
A friend responding to an unspoken word,
Guaranteeing in benediction
Continued movement forward.

Order in Disorder

There is order in disorder,
So not to worry about meaning…
It will find us.

I have selected a random (really?) location,
Trail side on rocks
Once cast up
Then worn down.

A very tiny spider
Walks a single invisible strand
Back and forth
It is very alive.

Lunching with the trees
That dropped their leaves and waited
Patiently
For my arrival.

Applesauce

It was a time of innocence,
That was your gift to me
Your work and sacrifice.

Your applesauce,
You made each summer
From apples you bought
On rambling trips
To orchards in Vermillion
With your sister Eunice
Canned in our kitchen…
It protected me
For a few fine years:
Before the bomb
Before the blast of puberty
It softened the blows.
You kept me safe
For as long as you could…

It is a time more guileful,
And gifts are given and received more cautiously
Though we work and sacrifice and carry on.

My applesauce,
Picked from apple trees
that likely remember when,
And cooked in modern day hot waters
Can do so little
Comparatively.
It only opens the door
Ajar
And lets me look back
And see your apron through the steam.
　

Sparks into the Sky

The trees are blushing this morning.
A sudden burst of early light
Has revealed them
Strutting modestly
In their flaming foliage
Mature in their nature
Radiant in their exuberance
Dancing close to the fire
They throw sparks into the sky
Without a care
Without a care.

Hopes of a View

It is a day like any other
But this day has a vantage point.

Not unlike
Climbing the tallest tree,
With hopes of a view
Closer to the farthest horizon,
Yet yielding nothing
But more trees
Beech green and gray
Oak stretching tall
Pine whistling secret melodies.
Their past is written
In concentric loops
Both tight and loose
Dendrochronologies stored in locked trunks,
They show nothing of the future
They offer no divining stick
Hedging toward a likely bet,
Their stories tell only what was.

A leaf drifts.
It wobbles down
Turning slowly on a brief breeze
Then lands upon a compass rose
Of other leaves and sticks
And points the way
On a map I know I know
But cannot read
And so I am left to discover
My course
Somehow
Having been so chosen.