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Almost April and the ‘livin is’ still not ‘easy’ in Wisconsin.  Our daily outings are still rushed by nippy winds and overcast skies.  Only the nightly honking from the Mississippi river tells me that the great migration has reached the water below our bluffs.  There is comfort in knowing that our annual visitors from the far south are winging their way back to their summer breeding grounds. 

A year ago, my friend Patti was still alive and I had posted a poem for her which had given her pleasure.  But today Patti is gone and I wonder if  this poem too would have given her joy:

 

About Angels and About Trees  by Mary Oliver

Where do angels

   fly in the firmament,

and how many can dance

   on the head of a pin?

 

Well, I don’t care

   about that pin dance,

what I know is that

   they rest, sometimes,

in the tops of trees

 

 and you can see them,

   or almost see them,

or, anyway, think:  what a

wonderful idea.

 

I have lost as you and

   others have possibly lost a

beloved on,

   and wonder, where are they now?

 

The trees, anyway, are

   miraculous, full of

angels (ideas); even

   empty they are a

good place to look, to put

   the heart at rest–all those

leaves breathing the air, so

 

peaceful and diligent, and certainly

   ready to be

the resting place of

   strange, winged creatures

that we, in this world, have loved.

 

Sam saying goodby to Patti on the day he arrived in Wisconsin.

 

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