Wednesday, Nov. 6, 5:31 AM

 Wednesday, Nov. 6, 5:31 AM

I hear the news,
allow my emotions,
know I need to be outside.
I sit in my yard,
slip off my shoes,
feel the cool, dewy grass
beneath my feet.
All is calm and still
as the sky slowly lightens,
low clouds carry a soft hue.
I breathe
through it all
right down to my toes.
My breath  condenses
in the chilly air
as cardinals and juncos,
chickadees and nuthatches
begin to chatter.
The branches of a favorite tree
weave intricate patterns
in the morning sky,
their complexities somehow comforting
I anchor to hope and resilience and love,
knowing these have served me well
in confusing, conflicting times
along the way.
Sun is rising,
birds are singing,
my breath is steady and true.
In so many ways all is not well,
and in other ways
it genuinely is.
How fortunate we are that
diverse truths can coexist

        With love,
Sarah Carlson

That Which is So Free

 That Which is So Free

Things circle ‘round,
shift along the way,
provide opportunity to
see and feel anew.
I used to think that I
get in the way of my own healing,
even as I recognize that hope
has been ever present in my being.
The intermingling of self-doubt and resilience
has actually been a source
 of helpful confusion.
Like cairns that lead the way
 through clouds and congestion
to openness and new vistas.
Now I recognize
that it’s the effects of the smothering
from way back
that have been tripping me up.
As they wither and dissipate,
  breath, light,
truth, and love
widen so very freely -
simply there to enjoy, embrace,
and share.
From Aurora filling the sky with pulsating hues,
to joy-filled warmth of a cherished child,
to subtle softness of
a heart-shaped lichen on a mountain trail,
so do the truth of being,
the sparkle of love,
 the breath of life
undulate within and without - always.
Even as I write this, I feel my breath
 reach softly into my heart,
befriend my emotions,
and gently ground me
as I wait for words
that might capture
that which is fluent and free.

Sarah Carlson
November 3, 2024

The Truth and Beauty of the Moment

 The Truth and Beauty of the Moment

I step outside,
look to the north,
and wait.
My eyes adjust,
a pinkish light begins to appear
as evening clouds disperse.
Just a hint at first,
then more
    and more
        and more -
here and there
and everywhere.
It brightens and shimmers,
fills the sky
 and me
with wonder.
At first the wonder is -
could this be true?
Then quickly shifts to awe,
with an understanding that
sometimes there is no need to know
why or how or if.
I could rest easy
in the truth and beauty
of the moment -
just me and the breeze
and the silhouettes of trees
under a mystical canopy
 of Aurora.

Sarah Carlson
October 10, 2024

Soothing Lull

Soothing Lull

Sun slips behind evergreens
under a soft tapestry of layered clouds.
Kayaks slide quietly across a ripply lake
as blue herons soar, loons call,
crickets harmonize.
We suspend our strokes,
 gaze to the east,
await the moonrise
that is sure to come.
A hint, a peek, a growing glow -
cradled by gentle hills
the harvest moon climbs slowly
into a darkening sky.
We watch,
                 drift,
                                sit with what is,
grateful for this soothing lull
and the awareness
of widening reflection.

Sarah Carlson
October 1, 2024

Peaceful Wonder

 Peaceful Wonder

Barefoot on a beach,
 sand churns in the swash
and backwash,
as waves stretch ever higher.
I close my eyes and listen,
feel my rhythms blend
with the rolling waves,
 lively breeze
that stirs evergreens
on the rocky shore nearby.
Grounded and secure,
I breathe into my depths
and out to vastness of the sky
and the wide horizon.
Cool, briny water
  gently surrounds my legs,
shifts the sand beneath my feet.
Subtle and effortless,
my entire being adjusts anew.
I fill with a sense of peaceful wonder,
reminiscent of childhood
before wonder became doubt.
I smile with a knowing
that keeps on growing.
Though doubts still swirl,
they are gentle,
can be spoken if need be
 and released in safety.
Outside in,
inside out-
                 healing
                                 continues
                to unfold.

Sarah Carlson
September 20, 2024

Just Beyond Words

Dalvay Beach, Prince Edward Island National Park, Canada

 

Just Beyond Words

Every so often I find my way
to a place of stillness within.
Where comfort and love
are ever constant
and currents of truth gently diminish
 roots of doubt.
A place that is both center and peripheral,
where one’s essence radiates freely.
Where the Divine fills and enfolds
in a way that is both protective and permeable
and you feel buoyant and held.
It’s always there -
a place to remember
either when things get painful, rough, heavy
or to notice and welcome
times of peace and connection.
Like a pause by the ocean,
when you close your eyes,
                            blend with the rhythms,
                                        let your breath deepen
                                or widen
                                            or both.
Though this is an attempt to articulate -
it’s actually a place that
                        eludes labels
                                as it bobs
                                            patiently
                                                                        just beyond words.
 

  Sarah Carlson

August 15, 2024

I Believe

Photos by Emma Carlson

 I Believe

In a world riddled with untruth,
anchoring to personal reality is paramount.

On the way to a recent
raft trip on the Kennebec,
I feel a little uneasy
about running the gorge.
So I take some deep breaths,
allow myself to feel
whatever it is that’s real.
My being settles, unease drifts away.
I am both grounded and lofty
as we set off into the rapids.
What power and beauty has water
in its quest to find the sea!
Dynamic waves collide, curl back on themselves,
gurgle and sparkle in the summer sun.
Our guide knows just where and when
to drop into this frothy mix
for maximum safety and fun.
With giggles and shouts
we plunge and flow,
paddle and hold,
work together as a team.
Below the wildest of the whitewater,
we join the rest of our gang.
 Kayaks inflated,
children safe in their life jackets and helmets,
we set out once more.
More whoops and hollers,
smiles and delight,
three generations together,
 the river carries us onward.
As currents quiet,
I watch my grandson,
with his Dada at the helm,
snuggle in his Mama’s arms
and slowly drift off to sleep,
calm repose after such adventure.  

I believe in the energy and continuity of Love.
I believe in my experiences, my feelings,
my abilities, my writing, my wisdom.
I believe in how I navigate
both wild waves and revealing riffles
 to find healing, joy, and peace
within the intricacies of grief.
Essentially,
 I believe in me.  

Sarah Carlson
July 12, 2024

 

Twinkle in Your Eye

  Twinkle in Your Eye

Something draws me there.
Down the stairs
 to the very gate you went through
to play tennis
that Spring day so long ago.
I can’t go in because the door is locked,
but I don’t actually need to.
I sit for a bit,
start to quietly speak,
soon realize that no words really fit.
I listen…
to melodic songs of  birds,
gentle rusting of leaves,
calm cadence of breath.
I look over to the place
where I know you collapsed.
I sigh,
raise my eyes,
 notice how much the trees have grown
in the years since.
Then -
a warm memory of me
going deep for a backhand
during a mixed doubles tournament.
Reaching for the fence to stop my momentum,
but instead going right through a tarp
that hung for a door in those days.
I disappeared,
tumbled down the hill,
then struggled to get up
because I was laughing so hard.
I can see the twinkle in your eye
that appeared as soon as you knew
I was okay.
I feel a soft peace
all through this me that I am now,
the me that I know you saw all along,
that same delightful twinkle
ever present.

Sarah Carlson
June 30, 2024

Our garden wedding - June 30, 1979

 

Gentle Dawning

 Gentle Dawning

 
This morning,
in that time between sleep and wake,
varied thoughts and feelings
drift softly.
There is a wondering present,
“Why do I write? Am I heard?
Does it matter?…”
Then, birdsong takes over.
I feel an inner delight at knowing
some singers in the sweet serenade:
Red-eyed Vireo,
Tufted Titmouse,
Veery,
Eastern Phoebe.
(Thanks Maine Master Naturalist Program)
I listen for a bit,
then realize something else
is pulling at me, too.
 I sit up, glance out the window
to see a double rainbow
arch across a pinkish-blue sky
and the woods behind my home.
No rain,
only wispy clouds,
but for just a few moments
there it is.
And then I
    sigh
and smile
at this gentle dawning -
“Yes, I am heard.”
Thank you birds,
thank you sky,
thank you Health
thank you words that
flow on through.

Sarah Carlson
June 17, 2024

Slow Melt

Breiðamerkursandur, Iceland

 Slow Melt

I lay on a black sand beach
on the edge of the North Atlantic,
under a blue Icelandic sky
with family.
Every once in a while one of us
says something like,
“We’re at the beach…in Iceland… together…
in April … among icebergs…!”
The air currents near the ground
are gentle
 and I feel my whole self settle.
Grandson Otto
stretches his body along my leg,
continues to play with monster trucks
in the rocky, sparkly sand.
I turn my head to watch a chunk of ice
slowly rolling in the surf.
I listen and feel the rhythms …
waves, birds, seals, wind,
hearts, breath.
 The warmth of love
 spreads throughout my being.
His love, my love, their love.
I scan the beach and see
a wide array of
bergy remnants
glistening in the late spring sun.
What a journey they’ve had,
landing here in this beautiful place
of transition.
A slow melt,
unique to each,
that leads to possibilities
and a whole
new flow.

Sarah Carlson
June 16, 2024

A Loving Gift

 A Loving Gift

Not long ago,
on my birthday in fact,
Mama asked you this question
as we were having lunch -
“Otto, what do you love best about Oma?”
You looked at me
with such a tender expression.
Our eyes locked,
your body quivered  a bit,
and then your whole being
seemed to smile.
Thoughts softened to feelings,
feelings to the truth of connection
all within a matter of moments.
With your 3-year-old wisdom
you conveyed
so much more
than words could ever say.
I get it,
I feel it,
I know it.
I love you that much, too.

Sarah Carlson
June 16, 2024

Shift and Sparkle

 Shift and Sparkle

Early morning sunshine at 
Jökulsárlón Glacier Lagoon.
We walk the paths,
marvel at the slow-moving beauty
unfolding before us.
This lake, filled with meltwater,
carries icebergs that continuously break
from the edge of a glacier,
then tip and tumble,
shift and sparkle,
slowly make their way to the sea. 

Delightful variations in their color,
many shades of gray and striking blues,
are the result of varied temperatures and ice density.
Once part of a whole,
each has a life of its own.

Our time there has been
in my heart since then.
Yesterday I experienced a letting go
that feels connected.
For many reasons that are
part of my own story,
I carried quite a cumbersome load,
much of which I have gingerly set down.
My body led the way yesterday,
and now my heart follows,
as I cry soft, multi-hued tears
of release and healing.
I don’t know why my brother and my husband
are not here to enjoy our children as adults
or our precious grandchildren -
and I am.
Unbeknownst to me,
somewhere deep down,
a sort of nebulous guilt was present.
Though it has been a slow process to realize this,
glacial really,
I am in awe of how good and safe it feels
to float and flow,
 buoyed by yet another
 sparkly, heart-mending shift.

Sarah Carlson
May 23, 2024

Free Flowing Awe

Photo by Emma Carlson

Free Flowing Awe

Immense and incredible waterfalls -
Öxarárfoss, Gullfoss, Skógafoss, Seljalandsfoss.
But it’s Gljúfurárfoss that deeply stirs my soul.
The spring-fed Gljúfurá
drops over black lava cliffs
then seemingly disappears.
We follow the stream
through a narrow passageway
that opens to a misty, magical wildness
 we share with a few other travelers.
Someone offers to take what we later realize
is ‘the photo’ for this place,
upon a boulder in the cavern.
And we’re grateful so we return the favor.
But then we stay for a bit
to feel it, be in it,
literally soak it all in.
Otto explores the stream
with Dada by his side.
Mama (Emma) and I
 share a few more moments
 of free-flowing awe.
Perhaps it was a sort of
accumulated energy
 from all of the falls,
 the changes they bring,
and sharing it as a family
that cleared the way.
From the soles of my feet,
to the core of my being,
to the tips of my fingers -
I open to a beautiful rush of me.
This settles to a sort of awakening
as the power of my very own love,
so naturally extended to others,
permeates, saturates, circulates
 throughout my being.
I am in awe, still.

Sarah Carlson
May 20, 2024

 

Waterfall of the Ax River

‘Waterfall of the Ax River’:
Öxarárfoss, Iceland

In a land so different
from the one we call home
there is such vast openness and history,
both geologic and human.
On our first day
we make our way to
Þingvellir National Park
in our camper vans.
It’s been a long time with little sleep,
yet we are drawn to a trail
we’ve been told goes to a waterfall -
‘foss’ in Icelandic.
We start the short climb,
3-year-old Otto
 gleefully leading the way.
You can feel the dynamic energy
of the place, the falls
even before they come into view
 around a bend.
Öxarárfoss,
where the waters of the Öxará
cascade over ancient lava cliffs
 of Almannagjá Gorge -
the eastern end
of the North American tectonic plate.
We sit, listen,
let our travel-weary bodies settle,
and take in the beauty together.
After some exploring,
Otto climbs onto Mama’s lap
and soon falls into a contented sleep.
Dada carries him through a part
of  the rift valley
 to our homes on wheels.
Low clouds hang over
wondrous gifts that
delightfully  unwrap
in the days ahead.

Sarah Carlson
May 7, 2024

 

Opa's Love

Photo by Emma Carlson

Opa’s Love

I wish your Opa
could hold you close,
read and tell you stories,
go on adventures,
do all the things
we get to do together.
When you hear stories about him
I can tell you listen deeply
and that you are getting to know him.
Mama told me that yesterday
you spent some time
looking at the photo collage of him.
And that after a while you said,
“Opa is my friend, I love Opa.”
That made us both, Mama and me,
so happy.
Today I’ve been thinking a lot about
Opa’s love.
It was, and still is,
calm and cozy,
soft and  strong,
real and right.
I also keep thinking back to the solar eclipse,
when the first glimmers of sunlight
peeked out from behind the darkened moon.
How bright those beams were,
how we were all in awe,
how they made everything so clear.
Opa’s body died,
sort of went dark,
but those bright, clear, awesome
 beams of his love
are there for us all,
always.
You’re right, Otto.
Opa is your friend.
And he surely loves you, too.

Oma
April 14, 2024

Totality

Photo by Emma Carlson - Umbagog Lake, NH - April 8, 2024

Photo by Katherine Carlson - Sugarloaf Mountain, ME - April 8, 2024

 

Totality

Under a bluebird sky we settle in,
wait, watch, commune.
Atop mountains,
in valleys below,
on wilderness lakes
and birding trails
we raise our eyes together.
Same direction, same time, same reason.
Slowly, slowly
the moon’s silhouette
slides across a brilliant sun.
Curious shadows begin to spread,
then winds stir,
temperature drops,
birds and humans
quiet.
The sky holds both
twilight and night
as the pearly glow
of the sun’s corona
and spiky pink prominences
take over the show.
Humans below smile, gasp, giggle, hug,
let some tears flow.
Then - a glimmer of light returns
with a glow both soft and strong.
Like a stage spotlight
centered on absolutely everything
all at once
with gentleness.
We know we
saw what we saw,
though it was
as close to unbelievable
as you can get,
and still believe.
And, in truth,
the moon and sun
did not change -
our perspective did.
Gradually,
we all make our way back
to ourselves,
 our lives,
our homes
with a bit more hope and love.
 awe and awareness
billowing about within.

Sarah Carlson
April 12, 2024

Inside Out

 Inside Out

I breathe, feel, reach
into my depths.
I both listen
and let my attention wander
to wherever it needs to go.
No code to crack,
no need for vigilance,
no place for shame,
no reason to fear.
My body settles,
cells open,
inner embers gently glow.
I feel surrounded and suffused
with soft hues of yellow,
lavender,
azure,
and snowy white.
Tranquil, soothing, inner delight.
There’s a bit of a tangle,
brambles and briars that,
though they stir,
no longer have roots.
I know they will go
when the time is right
for me.
With each deep breath now,
I feel a tender massage
of places that need nurture
and Love within.
Though I miss him still,
I recognize

my light in here, 

his light out there
really are all one
and the same.

Inside out,

outside in -
what a wonderful glow
to share.

Sarah Carlson
March 29, 2024

Welcome, Joyful Transformation

 Welcome, Joyful Transformation

Such a lovely flow within
the depths of me.
I believe this now,
have known it in many ways
all along.
The delicate softening
of places that need attention
has set free so many truths.
Some I already knew,
but didn’t quite trust.
Others slowly unfreeze,
gently join the flow
 with a splendor of their own.
And, sometimes there’s a breakthrough
that is profoundly liberating.
Like a realization of how
shame gets in the way.
For me,
it had an awkward grip
 from way, way back,
though I have done quite well
despite its hold.
Much of it came from
a cranky energy
that was persistent and nebulous.
I think it likely has
ancestral roots.
Good people gone awry
by not attending to their sorrows
and so tightness and unease
gets passed along.
This little one
absorbed so much as her fault
so eventually some critical
 feelings and needs
became bound up and tucked away.
Now she knows,
because I know,
there is no place for
the imposition of shame
in the wholeness of Health.
I hold her,
as I hold my grandson
 and held my children,
with all the care, compassion,
and love
she so richly deserves.
What a welcome, joyful
transformation within.

Sarah Carlson
March 24, 2024

Outside In

Outside In

I’ve always loved movement
in the outdoors,
a healthy aspect of my youth
to be sure.
How well I remember the joy
of running free as a child.
Kids from all over our neighborhood
 gathered to play.
Hide and Seek, Kick the Can,
kickball games right in the middle
of our quiet street.
Going inside was often hard.
 I didn’t quite fit,
couldn’t fully breathe,
was stymied by a harsh code
that, though I tried,
I never did crack.
When I met Barry,
our bond formed as we
biked, hiked, swam, rode horses.
I could breathe, smile, giggle.
The freedom to be me was present,
there was no code to crack.
How fortunate that he was there
and I was, too.
How courageous I was to follow my heart
into his patient arms.
How deeply sad I am that he died so young,
that our family has had to deal with such sorrow.
How grateful I am that I am healing.
 How connected I feel
as I hear birdsong along a bike trail.
I stop, breathe deep, look to the sky, and grin.
Outside in,
inside out,
all
One
 and the same.

Sarah Carlson
March 15, 2024

Oh, Nanny

Photo taken by my father in June of 1965

 Oh, Nanny

I remember how happy Geof and I were
when you pulled up
in your blue Studebaker,
your head barely showing
above the steering wheel.
How we loved going to A&W,
or Rummels,
or for a drive around Waterville
so you could tell us stories of old.
And, how proud I was when I was able
to drive you,
just as Geof had,
when you could drive no longer.
I remember how safe I felt with you.
First in your apartment
that looked out toward
the Waterville Public Library,
then later
on the seventh floor of Elm Towers,
a haven of comfort and love.
Saltines and lemonade,
homemade TV dinners,
the absolute best whoopie pies ever.
Playing cribbage,
learning to sew,
 feeling the bond of
 of a wide-eyed child
and a wise and wonderful grandparent
blossom along with me.
And now,
as Oma to dear Otto,
that comfort and love
rekindles within me
in such a way
as to more deeply know
 my self. 

Sarah Carlson
March 4-12, 2024

I'm Home

 I’m Home

Last summer I had a rush of emotion that came forth as,
“I don’t want to live here anymore.”
I thought I meant this house that we shared as a family
and where I have lived alone for quite some time.
Now I understand that there was a deeper meaning, too

As I settle and soften into
this place that is mine -
I’m at home
baking muffins in my kitchen,
reading in my favorite chair,
typing this poem by my wood stove.
I’m at home
enjoying grandson
cuddles, conversations, and escapades
wherever we may be.
I’m at home
as I see my children and their spouses
thrive and love and share adventures.
I’m at home
as I access healing in whatever way I need.
Though I really don’t know
where I should live just yet,
I do know that
I’m at home
by the brook that meanders through my woods,
on the mountain I so love beneath my feet,
and in the freezy, breezy wilds that surround.
Wherever I am,
I’m here,
I’m home.
I’ll figure out the rest as I go.

Sarah Carlson
March 8, 2024

Once Again

 Once Again

I’ve been so used to observing closely
that I sometimes forget to look wide,
especially when I’m uneasy.
I get better and better, though,
 at remembering,
especially outside.
I can pause upon a rocky ledge,
scan, and breathe -
all the way to my toes and into the earth,
all the way out to the tops of the trees and beyond.
Moments of connection and expansion,
deep and real and true.
I feel the solidity
of the layered mountains
in the distance,
recognize their history of change.
I notice how part of the lake below
riffles in the winter wind,
while quiet ice blankets the rest.
I contemplate shades of gray
as they shift in flowy clouds
just as the sun peeks through,
illuminates and widens.
And, there it is,
 there you are,
there I am.
In those moments,
and more often in the everyday,
I can anchor deeply as I expand,
honor my wholeness as I mend,
feel the potency of Love
once again.

Sarah Carlson
February 24, 2024

You, Me, Love

Footprint, pawprint, heartprint - Barker Brook, 2/3/24

 You, Me, Love

 I’m drawn to the little beach
where we caught crayfish,
skipped rocks,
taught the kids
 the art of throwing bubblers.
I turn my face to the mid-winter sun,
close my eyes,
listen to the quiet, shimmering flow -
both of the brook and of me.
 I stretch freely
from ground to sky
and beyond in all directions.
My breath expands,
 blends with the trees
and the breeze,
just as they join me.
I feel you, me, Love.
Both the joy of the whole-hearted
way we lived together
and the sadness
 of how broken-hearted
I felt when you died
are palpable.
A deepening departure
of judgment,
            wrongness,
                            any pull to be
            other than I am.
A freedom to tell, ask, feel,
grieve, laugh, cry, be…
The comfort of feeling at home in me.

Though I have known these before,
I lost sight a bit
enduring the pandemic.
As if social distancing
became a sort of soul distancing
that tapped a deep, tender place
of feeling scared and alone in the dark,
trying hard to understand.
Though healing and growth continued
and Light has been present,
there was a void.
Thank you for reaching through,
in ways powerful, subtle, and true.
As I fathom the fullness of me,
 I am ever grateful
for you, me, Love.

Sarah Carlson
February 4, 2024

His Special Light

 His Special Light

The morning starts
 with a quick cuddle
and the excitement 
of getting ready
for adventure.
As always,
there’s such joy
in learning, growing,
and being together.
Later,
he holds his special light
as we softly sing
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
Before long his eyes get heavy
and he ever-so-gently
 drifts off to sleep.
My body slowly relaxes, too,
as light, love,
and gratitude for
such tender moments
spread throughout my being.
What a sweet reminder
of how delightful it is
to love,
and be loved.

Sarah Carlson
February 2, 2024

By Your Side

 Sun shadow arc that appeared just as the sun was breaking through the clouds behind me - top of Narrow Gauge Extension at Sugarloaf Mountain, Maine. Partnered with remembering and reconnecting.

By Your Side

I’m here, Sarah,
though I’ve been gone long.
I’m so glad that you continue
 to more deeply discover
the truth of you.
Through the fog,
when things unfreeze,
and as you bask
in soothing moments
of awe
you can anchor
 to the constancy
of our Love
whenever you desire.
Their anger and dysfunction
are not yours,
 never were.
They are not you,
you are not them.
You are you.
Remember -
your soft strength,
caring heart,
sweet soul
have also been constant
through it all.
 Wherever you go,
whatever you choose,
and as you continue
to heal
I’m right here,
 by your side,
 always.

Sarah Carlson
February 1, 2024

 

Intermingle

 Intermingle

Gentle soul, He.
How grateful I remain
for the energy
of the love
 we share.
A constant, for sure,
                                    though I drifted a bit,
                                                became encumbered
                        by challenges
                                         that stir disquiet
moored to darkness not mine.
So, he found ways
                to remind,
                             rejuvenate,
                rekindle.
Star showers and snow hearts,
eagles on the wing.
Dream visits and wind whispers,
powerful golden light
that illumines
familiar hills, valleys,
robust places
 within.
So much intermingles
as I allow and honor,
root and rise,
patiently embrace
 this gentle soul, Me.

Sarah Carlson
January 24, 2024

A Soft Reminder

A Soft Reminder

Christmas has come and gone,
and another year is waning.
As always, I think of you
with a gentle longing
that I have befriended
over the years.
The warmth and gentleness
of our love is here, too.
There is much on my mind,
but I think this year
I’m going to sit with the beauty
of this soft reminder
that filled my being
as I crossed a small brook
on a winter hike
 with friends today.
There, right there -
a perfect heart
waiting to be seen.
I saw it, I feel you,
I love you, too.

© Sarah Carlson
December 31, 2023

Stalled... and in Motion

 Stalled… and in Motion 

My mind wanders
as I walk along a snowy trail
 that’s new to me.
I realize I’m searching
to find words to describe
what’s going on within.
I don’t ever remember feeling
quite this way before -
sort of disoriented, but in a good way.
Drifty,  though my vessel is secure.
Stalled, and clearly in motion.
An image of water-skiing
drops gently into my mind.
Those lovely moments of suspension
just after a wide turn as you wait
for the pull of the boat
to catch up to you.
You know the energy is there,
so you delight in the pause.
“Yeah, that’s it… kind of,” I think.
Later, we stop to examine
 a glacial erratic that borders the trail.
I gaze upward -
 rocky edges
meet a soft blue sky
as wispy clouds dash by.
Further aloft I spy an eagle.
He turns into the wind,
flaps his huge wings to adjust
and then hangs motionless.
He does this several more times
and then…
he does a 180,
zooms away with the wind,
wings open wide for the ride.
I take a deep breath,
grateful for the serendipity
of nature speak
once again.

© Sarah Carlson
December 14 - 31, 2023

Do You Hear It, Mama?

Photo by Emma Carlson

 Do You Hear it, Mama?

A family outing on Christmas Day,
three generations strong.
We walk to Madison Boulder,
play in the babbling brook
that flows nearby.
As we head back
 three-year old Otto
 grabs his mother’s hand,
then stops and asks,
“Do you hear that water flowing, Mama?”
Thinking we had left the brook behind,
we’re surprised
at what appears to be
a mini waterfall deep in the trees.
We weave through soggy woods
to be greeted by water sparkling
 in the mid-day sun
as it aerates during its plunge,
 bubbles when it rejoins the brook
in a raucous rush.
Icy edge waters dangle and glisten
in silent suspension,
ice platelets hang
on tiny branches
with beautiful patterns
 all their own.
Rich unplanned moments, these,
 provided by
 an adventurous boy
who feels free to ask,
and loving adults
who know to listen.

© Sarah Carlson
December 30, 2023

Ever Expanding Light

 Ever Expanding Light

Here in Maine
we had a lovely winter storm
that overlaid our world
for many days.
A true winter wonderland,
uplifting and beautiful.
Just over two weeks later,
a storm of a very different nature
hit hard.
Torrential rains, crazed winds,
raging rivers,
flooding and destruction.
All this with winter not even here,
until today.
Bare trees sway in a chilly breeze,
still waters freeze,
humans connect
and work to recover.
An icy patch near my home
catches my eye
as I walk and wonder.
I stand for a bit in awe once again
at what nature holds, if only we look.
Bent branches,
air pockets,
angles, openings,
waters both clear and rippled.
So much there
that wouldn’t be
without Light.
Perhaps that’s why
this day contains
 warmth through the chill,
insight from reflections,
promise in the dark.
It’s a day that,
through it all,  
we can recognize
the hope of ever expanding Light.

© Sarah Carlson
December 21, 2023