Bittersweet

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

The bittersweet vines hung there, in the trees,

by the dusk-cast river, orange berries bursting

from papered-sheaths.

I understood bittersweet.

You?

~

Sometimes we walk in circular paths that

make what is new seem so familiar,

sometimes, because it is.

This is our challenge: to distinguish reality

from mystery while never choosing

reality over the other.

You know what it is like when something

that lived a certain destiny becomes something

else entirely because it was loved in

a certain way.

That’s the nature of all things. Or, it could be.

~

When the sun set, I knew that it was still there,

on the trees, but I walked away anyway.

Bittersweet remains.

There is a dear, dear sweetness in that.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

From "Plant Songs" (a work in progress)

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Faith

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

I wondered if the katydid sitting atop the zinnia

knew that this will be its last day. Autumn cares

something about beauty, but she’s not one to

get attached to things, never to moments.

My garden is telling stories about what has been.

If you listen closely, you’ll notice that they are

stories about faith. That’s what seed planting

is: a practice of faith. That’s different than a

practice of promise, mind you. Pay attention

to that.

What will the waxwings do for full bellies

this winter? They are at the frost-softened

persimmons and those wild grapes high in the

red maple much earlier than usual. Is it

wisdom or foolishness that has them there?

Ah. Now that’s a question, isn’t it?

~ /Jamie K. Reaser, Author

From "Wonderment" (a work in progress)

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