chocolate is a verb

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Tag Archives: wonder

found poem: stuffed with wonder

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ stuffed with wonder
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

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ready for Thanksgiving

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ ready
Have a delicious Thanksgiving.

found poem: thorny

found poem: a poem

found poem: Though

found poem: ready

found poem: Earth

found poem: dissolving

found poem: PLUSH

found poem: days

found poem: shake

found poem: yearning

found poem: the power

found poem: I’ve been

TO BE…

that cheerless weekend…

the newness of something…

peony buds in the rainArms crossed in front of her, she held herself — soothing, cradling, rocking. Without quite thinking, she recognized the unfamiliarity of this gentle holding: the feel of her upper arms soft beneath her hands, the pressure against her breasts, the simple comfort of being held in this most primitive way: solitary, alone, apart. Not the reassuring grasp of friend or parent, not the heated embrace of lover, but a place she could go — a cottage — cozy, private, out of the heat and rain and centrifugal chaos of the world.

Holding herself, she felt the weight of the invisible — the unfathomable gravity of grief and love and wonder. She pulled it in and gripped herself tighter and smiled.

what remains…

Mt. St. Helens from Johnston Ridge ObservatoryWhen Helen blew her top, I wasn’t running for my life, driving foot-to-the-floor against impossible odds, clinging to a tree blasted by the pumiced wind. I wasn’t buried, or even dusted, with ash. I stepped out the front door of my Seattle storefront studio and walked a half block to the freeway overpass where I could watch in awe and fascination the growing plume.

This weekend, visiting for the first time the scarred landscape of the mountain, my fascination is undiminished. She was no saint, this mountain. But then she wasn’t named for the cross-seeking, church-building, alms-giving mother of Constantine. George Vancouver named his ‘discovery’ for his friend, the diplomat Alleyne Fitzherbert, Baron St. Helens.

Standing a handful of miles from the crater some 31 years from her big blow — adjacent slopes re-greened with fast-growing firs, a foursome of elk dozing in the grass — one reaches for superlatives to describe the still-evident devastation and finds that they’ve all been used.

What’s left is the eye’s sweep across the impossible, the imagination’s replay of the inconceivable, and awe.
—–
Jeff Hollett photo taken July 10, 2010

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