Gate of Cedar Logs

Much loved friends just moved away from this farmstead remnant in Northern Michigan. When they moved here, these weathered logs already supported the fence around the garden. And I am sure they stand there still, having been selected to endure. Trees like this grow in cedar swamps in this part of Michigan. I fell in love with the shapes of the silvered wood. It made me think about practical building, using the right materials for the right job and how things made with care can often last. 

Tonight I met with my poetry group; we call it the Poetry Salon. Through illness, rain and misadventure we were about as small an assemblage as we have ever been--only three women. Yet, we managed to run an hour late, worked over poems and got out other things to read (Fanny Howe from the Best American Poems, 2001) and talked about  , , , The Odyssey! Yes, that one.

A Glimpse of the Eternal

Just now
a sparrow lighted 
on a pine bough
right outside
my bedroom window
and a puff
of yellow pollen
flew away.

        Ted Kooser
from Delights and Shadows, Copper Canyon Press, 2004, page 82.