Hmm

I do my best not to jump ahead of things. One is good enough for now, 

Hmm

Hmm

Hmm

Everything comes

In threes:

Doubt

Understanding

Even joy.

Threes I tell you

Three

A somehow

Magic number.

I count now

I have only reached

One.

Two more

To go.

Hmm.

Room for change

Wow. This one didn't go where I thought it would go. I'd forgotten about the magical order of PEMDAS. Sometimes subtraction comes first. Today I am unsubscribing from a few automatic email sites. Farewell Lands End. Goodbye J. Peterman.

I spend every Lent

In addition and subtraction,

Multiplication and division

Of thoughts and actions.

There is always room for change.

Sometimes I keep it on the bedside table;

Sometimes it rattles around

In my coat pocket.

When I buy a sandwich

The change goes

In the tip jar.

Addition and subtraction

Multiplication and division

There is always room for change.

Change adds pathways

To our brain,

Subtracts others.

We all have different orders

Of operation.

It’s not PEMDAS

For everyone

In that magical order.

But change

Is absolute.

Change itself

Is absolute.

Mountain ash

I don*t really believe in folklore, unless it comes true.  The Farmers* Almanac is a good source for this.  The mountain ash is particularly fruitful this year.  In other parts of the world it is known as a rowan.  Branches are used by farmers to drive herds into the fields first thing in the spring as a protection.  Who*s to say it doesn*t protect them?  I have yet to see a woolly bear caterpillar this year.  I have no idea what they have to say about the coming winter.

The mountain ash

Is filled with orange berries

This year.

Weather journals say

This predicts a hard winter,

Like thicker stripes

On the woolly bear caterpillar.

Who*s to say

What more means here.

Who*s to say

What wider stripes mean

With no caterpillar to compare

From last year?

The mountain ash is filled

With orange berries.

Some say it is a magical tree.

It stands at full height

Next to the patio,

Filled with orange berries,

Ready to feed songbirds

Before their long trip

South.

Some say it is a magical tree.

Who*s to say

It*s not?

Deadlines

I catch myself thinking that when this happens, or that happens, then everything will work out right.  I know this is not true.  I set deadlines or meet deadlines and find myself on the other side saying : Now what?  I passed the CADC (now what?).  I will be able to drive again on March 15 barring no new seizures (looking more and more likely) (then what?...)  It*s not magic, Catharine, I say.  Funny, I know this.  I don*t believe in magic or knocking on wood or lining everything up just so everything will go well.  It*s amazing to me how strong the illusion is that I*m in control.  The crocus and the redwings are small signs I*m not.  

Deadlines are not everything

They*re cracked up to be.

They*re anything

But magic and I don*t believe in magic

Anyway.

When the ducks are all lined up

In a pretty quacking row

Talking in turn,

Eating in turn,

Taking off one after another after another,

Then oh then each and everyone and all

Will know his place

Her place.

The ice won*t trip me up.

My brain*s electricity will travel

In an orderly fashion

From synapse to synapse.

I shall remain upright.

At 8 AM on March 15

I will drive and make appointments in distant places

Without consulting

My very patient driver.

Serendipity shows its face

In wonderful surprising ways.

There may be crocus peering

Through the snow.

The redwings may return,

Trees full of redwings.

Still

Deadlines are not everything

We were told once and long ago.

Serendipity enters in fits and starts.

It does not fit prescribed order.

It dances with the deadlines.

Sometimes it brings unwanted things.

We have to figure out

How to grab them on the fly

Wrestle them to the ground

In the dark.

Win or lose it doesn*t matter.

They too are not magic things.

I am told we don*t believe in magic

Anyway.