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

Oh, These Trees

 

Oh, These Trees

I walk by the river,
as I have so often over the years.
Though the water surely flows,
all is quiet under a soft gray sky.
Snowflakes of an approaching storm
begin to gently fall.
As often happens along this trail,
clarity seeps its way in
without my asking.
I gaze across the river
and smile at a familiar,
though ever-changing, sight.
Oh, these trees
and how they reflect,
help me do the very same.
Memories of shared and solo
snowshoe, ski, and paddling adventures.
Sunsets, moon shadows,
ice formations, geese visitors,
eagles on the wing.
I slide in deeper and recognize
there are some facets,
though universal,
that are unique to me,
my inner landscape.
 The love, the missing, the loneliness.
The courage, the pain, the despair.
The hope, the comfort, the healing.
I embody the truth of it all.
My truth.
And then…a knowing
 that if and when I branch out anew,
I will carry with me all that has come through
in the soothing company
 of this river and these trees.

Sarah Carlson
December 4, 2023

In the Barn

 In the Barn

It’s been leaning for a while,
has needed to come down.
I haven’t really even been out there much
since he died.
Lately, though, it’s been calling to me,
wanting attention as I work toward
leaving this home we all shared together.
So, I gather my courage and take a look.
Emotions stir as I see
a jumble of old bikes and skis,
a favorite hat now housing a bird’s nest,
the remains of the yellow Dancer he so loved -
 our kayak beginnings.
Here and there I spot
random Carlson family memorabilia,
brought home when he and his twin brother
helped Nana move after Grandpa died.
I peek into the upstairs loft
once a sort of neighborhood hangout
complete with a crazy zipline
built by you-know-who,
now a resting place for who-knows-what.
 Back downstairs …way in the back…
 my gaze rests upon the old Glenwood.
Together we moved that woodstove
from a cabin in the woods
to our first house,
 then another,
and eventually here.
Though it has not held a fire in years,
 the warmth of our bond
kindles deep within
as tender tears surface.
All the way back I go,
to falling in love in the ’59 Rambler
listening to Neil Diamond’s Hot August Night
on the 8-track player.
There, I distinctly feel
a welcome blend
of my growth and healing
and his unwavering
love and support.
I had to go there,
a place I had been avoiding,
to once again feel things anew.
I am so very grateful
for what comes to light… in the barn.

Sarah Carlson
November 17, 2023

The Fog of Mourning

 The Fog of Mourning
with love to my home state of Maine

We know what we know.
People were slain.
People were injured.
People experienced terror.
We are hurting.
We wait and wonder.

I had a sudden rush
 of tangled emotions this morning
after I read about the tender beings
who were killed in Lewiston.
I feel such empathy for them,
for their families,
for those who shared in their lives.
And then it went deeper as the words,
“there one minute, gone the next”
meandered through my mind.
Though it has been years,
and my husband died peacefully,
I can relate to a normal day
that ends with sudden,
catastrophic loss.
At first I felt guilty.
What right do I have to cry
 about my own loss
in the midst of this horrible crisis?
I knew to step outside,
take a breath,
be with the trees
and the morning mist.
Slowly it dawned
that we are together
in the fog of mourning
right now,
each in our own way.
How it dissipates
will ebb and flow and vary.
May we all
find spaces and places
to honor our feelings,
experience support,
share love and compassion
so the density of this fog
can lighten
as time goes by.

Sarah Carlson
October 27, 2023

Wide Open Love

Wide Open Love

I love this photo
of our tenderhearted grandson
at the same beach
where I danced in wild waves
during a recent storm.
I came across it just after
a sweet, distant memory of his Opa
found its way into my mind, my heart.

I am driving by the fairgrounds
and, boom… it comes with a rush…
1979
We are newlyweds,
 in our brand new truck,
on our way
to our new home in Rangeley.
New, new, new…
We decide to stop at the Farmington Fair
to meet up with a friend.
44 years later,
I feel as if I’m in the truck,
his arm around my shoulder,
as he searches for a place to park.
Sensations of love, togetherness,
excitement, promise
of that day, those moments,
spread throughout my being.
 They gently pair with the truth
of so many lonely times since he died
that still come every so often,
especially in this town.
I cry peaceful tears for me, for him, for us.
I feel real and right and valid.

I look again at this photo,
 ponder the many aspects
 of newness in my life now.
I marvel at Otto’s easy presence,
 spunky innocence,
wide open love.
I feel so incredibly grateful
to be his Oma,
have the opportunity to
share both lively adventures
 and quiet connection with him
as I carry his Opa
 softly in my heart.

Sarah Carlson
October 2, 2023

In the Awe of it All

Turns out swimming in the wind can be both humbling and empowering. Still processing this amazing experience in/at Silver Lake, New Hampshire.

In the Awe of it All

After a rollicking swim
I am content
to watch and wait
with wonder.
Evening sun sinks behind
an undulating horizon
as wind-whipped waves
continue to break
 upon saturated sand.
Red, orange, yellow hues
shimmer and gleam
 in the clouds,
water, shoreline.
As day gives way to night
and storm clouds
slowly slip away,
my breath and being
settle anew.
I am but one human
alone on a beach.
In those moments
I feel happy, full,
safe
to be immersed
in the awe of it all.

Sarah Carlson
October 1, 2023

Wave Upon Wave Upon Wave

Silver Lake, New Hampshire - September 16, 2023

Wave Upon Wave Upon Wave
 

We’re on the fringe of a tropical storm
so I head to the beach
to experience the wind.
Dazzled by the intricate
rhythm of the whitecaps,
I decide that a swim is in order.
I am alone
so I know to take care,
that I have the ability
to do that for me.
I go in just far enough
to be fully afloat.
It takes some time
to adjust to the varied angles
and steepness of the waves.
As I do I feel my
    body enliven,
         energy flow,
                vitality soar.
Eventually it becomes
     a comfortably
                wild dance
                of sky,
                                mountains,
                water,
    and me.
I simply know
                                 when to exert
               or relax
      or adjust.
Wave
upon wave
upon wave.
Rise, settle, scan.
Surge, giggle, smile.
Breathe, notice, allow.
Later, I sit on the beach
as the sun sets
and the winds freshen even more.
My essence pleasantly abuzz,
    I feel
                    calm,
                                    present,
                         grateful,
                safe,
         and free.

    Sarah Carlson
September 23, 2023