Daffodils

By |January 29th, 2015|

Poem by Nikyta

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It is late January
and the fog lays thick as dreams
over the brown brushed
sleeping fields.

The lake is as still as town.
All the migrations have
come and gone:
swallows, geese, tourists.

Drops of shining water
adorn the otherwise barren trees
And the fields glimmer greenly
from the winter rains.

Only two turkeys stroll
through the empty pastures
Awkward and graceful
they hop, peck, swoop, flap.
Their eyes
shining black jewels of attention.

They have been the first to witness
the courageous daffodils
pushing their verdant way
up out of the cold earth.

They have seen with what
tenacious beauty
it has taken those
brave yellow faces
to bloom into radiant smiles.

Even last week
when their heads
drooped heavy with frost.
Even now as the clouds hold
in a blanketing warmth
Do their bright yellow heads
wink and nod
as they whisper of
the approaching spring.

-Nikyta Palmisani

 

Nikyta teaches yoga at Down Dog on Mondays and Saturdays. We have all been inspired by the early Daffodils and I am so glad she shared her words with us!

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Concrete

By |March 28th, 2014|

We finally started the greenhouse.  We poured the concrete this morning in the drizzle.  I am going to post a full explanation of the design (it is moveable on rails) once we are done.  For now I will share a little poem inspired by the pour:

Concrete,

they say.

When something is real.

 

Concrete pours

out of the truck

a lumpy half liquid,

spilling, glumping,

oozing.

 

It needs forms to keep

its form.

 

Needs guides

and rules

and discipline.

Until suddenly

it is solid,

an accountable part of reality.

 

Solid,

one shape

one function.

 

Scared to the bones of cracking.

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