Just As I Am

Stones with strata.

Stones with strata.

Dear God, who made the rocks just the way they are,
rising through the earth;
Who made the stars just the way they are,
red stars dying and new stars being born;
Who made the wind just the way it is,
bending a tree or breaking it;
Who made the waters just the way they are,
cold soup running with live ingredients;
Who made the mule deer just the way it is,
stepping from shadows into light;
Who made the gray mole just the way it is,
digging deep;

Who made us, who made me, just the way I am,
blood-filled and trembling, trying to move.

Dear God, wash me in the love that changes everything. Amen.

— Margaret D. McGee, excerpted and re-worked from the book Stumbling Toward God: A Prodigal’s Return, Innisfree Press, 2002.

(In the church calendar, January is the month of Epiphany. I think of this prayer as a prayer for epiphany—that is, for a glimpse of the larger truth that lies behind the surface of things.)

We invite you to spend time in contemplation with these words from a prayer I wrote some years ago. Then join in the conversation with your own poetic response.

You can enter into conversation with this text by adding your haiku response below.

About Margaret D. McGee

Comments

  1. New Years Day walk…
    dead leaves and baby mushrooms
    on the path ahead

  2. Marybeth Bland says:

    Learning to walk…
    a wet leaf on the ramp
    sends chills down my spine

    Margaret,

    Interesting we both took walks today. Yesterday I walked down a flat sidewalk at physical therapy. Today, I decided to try our ramp only going down the part with little slope. And only to the flat part set aside for a rest.. Maybe I went 8 or ten feet. Going back up felt like climbing a mountain. I shoted to nickrl, “I a, walking!”

    A woman jogging by wished us a happy New Year. Did she understand what I had just done?

    To climb a mountain
    I must set aside fears
    Know God is there

    • Brad Offutt says:

      Oh, Marybeth, how moving and how very true! God is there even when we forget to see him. May he bless you and Nickel as you conquer mountains. Thank you for your picture; I hope I can meet you both some day.

    • Marybeth, I love your wet leaves haiku — it sent chills down MY spine!

      And it’s funny that you use the phrase “wet leaves,” because last night in bed I was working over my starting haiku in my mind, and decided I liked “wet” better than “dead” in my poem, revised to this:

      New Years Day
      wet leaves and baby mushrooms
      on the path ahead

      I started with “dead” because of the red stars dying and new stars being born in the prayer … but it just felt a little too abrupt for me in the haiku. I’ll have to sit with this one and see how it feels.

      CONGRATULATIONS on your New Years Day walk!

    • Marybeth, I can certainly see how one slippery wet leaf could be very dangerous in your walk on the ramp. Take no chances at this stage in recovery, you are doing so well. Looking forward to our promise to have tea this month.

  3. Marybeth Bland says:

    As long as you do not live in another state , maybe we wills.

  4. Marybeth Bland says:

    This is a test to get back notification emails. I keep forgetting to tap notify me

  5. Brad Offutt says:

    frost blazes in
    sunlit farewell –
    dew again

    • jagged peaks
      glisten in sunlit farewell
      longing for summer

      • Nice linking poem to Brad’s poem, Carolyn. I also like the turn to your third line. In my reading, it is the poet who is longing for summer. I read it that way in part because I like the turn from observation to introspection. But also because, in general, personification is avoided in haiku.

        In fact, “farewell” is kind of pushing it, personification-wise, in both your poem and Brad’s. For me, both poems could do without that word. Human beings say “farewell.” Frost and peaks just blaze, glisten, and melt.

    • Marybeth Bland says:

      So true to yesterday, thanks you painted such a picture,

      • Marybeth Bland says:

        I write that response to Brad. Carolyn I wanted to comment on the wind tossed dingy. It reminds me of me being tossed around in this world at times, especially with thus broken leg. But then at the worst of times I feel connection and help from friends, family and God. Also of course nickel. I am anchored. Thank you

    • Brad, I like this moment of transition–the frost, the sun, and then the dew. I especially like that link to the opening lectio, in which everything is in transition.

      My only suggestion has to do with the same issue that came up near the end of last month’s Lectio — the cause and effect relationship between the elements of the poem. The sun strikes the frost, and it turns to dew. This can be a strong moment, but it needs more to be a strong haiku.

      Because the poem is pretty short right now, you might consider collapsing those three lines together into two (one phrase), and then finding a third line to juxtapose with them.

  6. wind-tossed dinghy
    washes ashore
    firmly anchored

    • Interesting, Carolyn. I’m not sure who or what is firmly anchored in this poem. Do you mean that someone has anchored the wind-tossed dinghy after it washed ashore?

  7. Brad Offutt says:

    mountain snow
    assures
    summer rivers

    Not a true haiku, I know, because I’ve gone beyond the experience of the moment and have added interpretation. But Marybeth’s beautiful remarks and Carolyn’s snowy peaks, plus her firm anchor, made me see the forbidding, cold, distant Olympic peaks I watch from our home as a firm anchor, friends indeed, promising us the water we so need in summer to go on living in our beautiful Pacific Northwest.

    • Well, no, it might not be a true haiku, but I like the way it continues this poetic conversation.

      Here’s a way different poem that derives from your poem, trying to turn it into more of a haiku.

      Alpine lodge…
      I wake from a dream
      of summer rivers

      This takes away the personification in “assures.” (Human beings offer assurance. Snow just melts.) It also addresses the cause-and-effect issue that’s come up lately.

      Well … that’s not your poem, Brad, I know! I just used your poem for an exercise about haiku.

  8. one moon
    illuminates the whole sky
    how small I am

  9. Marybeth Bland says:

    I started a nature journal last year. Almost every day I write down observations of the weather here and in the country, I also note the birds I see and when my berries , my flowers grow and my vegetables might bear food.
    So I have been enthralled watching all Thd activity outside my kitchen window,. The robins and chickadees are feasting on those berries,
    Yesterday I saw a beautiful cinammon cat hiding behind the bushes. It was sitting on the ramps railing waiting to eat my birds,
    I knocked on The window thinking that would scare it away. Instead it turned to me with puzzled eyes as if asking what I wanted. So I told Thd cat to go away. Of course it could not hear me through Thd glass. It even seemed to tell me that as it slowly walked up The ramp to my front door. Having Nickel next to me I did not answer the door.

    Hours later I walked into The kitchen again only to spot something on the ramo’s railing. At first I thought it was that cat . But it was a bird, a large bird , about twenty to twenty five inches large perched in the exact place of where thr cat had been. I was so fascinated. After studying it I realized it was a hawk waiting for my birds. I did not move mesmerized. And then it flew away.

    Natures beauty
    Viewed
    In times of stillnesss

    • What a great story, Marybeth. I love the way the hawk and the cat — two predators — use the same perch for their hunt.

      I also like the stillness in your poem. For me, the stillness saves the poem from being too abstract. And most especially I like that the poem doesn’t differentiate between the beauty of the small birds, the cat, and the hawk. It’s all beauty.

      • Marybeth Bland says:

        Thanks Margaret. It took awhile to write The haiku . I could not figure out which part of the story to emphasize . Finally I realized it was everything. And if I had been hurrying here and there would I even have noticed? So I settled on stillness and hoped it was not too abstract. Glad it wasn’t

  10. Reading these haiku was really good for me. I had a difficulty time writing mine. My meditation on this passage wasn’t as fruitful as it has been in past months. I think that I struggle with accepting myself as I am. I’m always looking for what I can do better and while I believe that there is a time for self improvement, I also know that it is so important to be compassionate with yourself and realize how much you are loved right here and now. Maybe unfruitful is not the right word because in the struggle I learned much about myself and my fears. I guess I mean that my meditation wasn’t as peaceful or uplifting as in the past. I’m muddling my thoughts so . . . anyway . . . here’s my haiku.

    dandilion seed
    in all its drifting journeys
    is never lost.

    • Kathy, thanks so much for sharing both your haiku and your struggles. I also struggle with accepting myself. I think that’s probably how that opening prayer got written in the first place.

      I like the dandelion seed in your haiku. One suggestionwould be to think about cutting “is” in the third line. That creates a bit of a break between the second and third lines, which makes the poem more haiku-like. It also helps me generalize from the dandelion seed.

      And I wonder if”all its” in the second line could be cut.

      dandelion seed
      in drifting journeys
      never lost

      That way, you can read the poem with a break after either the first or second line, turning the middle line into a pivot.

      But I can also see that something is lost with that second cut … pluses and minuses. Just a thought — it’s your poem!

      • Marybeth Bland says:

        Kathy,

        Thanks. I see this poem as nothing is lost if the seed is not. So when I am feeling lost and astray I really am not.

        Hope my interpretation is what you meant

      • i love the thought and the revision of this haiku. There are so many places it can take you.

  11. Marybeth Bland says:

    Lyingon the wet grass
    Looking towards the pond
    The cats tail wags

    • Marybeth Bland says:

      I am revising tihis

      Lying on the grass
      The cat looks towards the pond
      Wagging it’s tail

      And to everyone I am feeling so much better. Will start walking down the ramp tomorrow .

      • Marybeth, I love your haiku and can see that cat hunting. Also very good to hear you are doing better. Hurrah for the ramp walk!

  12. Last weekend my daughter and 2 of the grandsons went to the cabin for the clam tides. They were evening digs this time and we got to the cabin just in time to unload everything, get a fire going and be ready to leave for the dig. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect, only slight wind and even though it was cold the sun was welcome. The surf was low and more playful than serious for an ocean beach. It is my job to find the holes while the others dig. While I went about the hunt I thought about the harvest and what we would enjoy from it. We got our 4 limits in less than an hour. Once we were back to a warm cabin it was time for dinner and a couple of movies.
    Gentle breeze
    Over frolicking waves
    Clam chowder
    The next morning we planned our day with a walk to the docks, another movie and be loaded up and locked down to head to the beach late afternoon for the next dig and leave for home right from the beach. The weather was even better this second day and again we found an abundance of holes to dig. Before we were limited I had everyone stop to watch the flaming winter sun as it dropped beyond the horizon and spread itself over the water, just as the last clam was dropped into the bag. Oh, the richness of treasures nature has to show if we but just take notice.
    Liquid sun
    Pours into the sea
    Heading home

    • Brad Offutt says:

      Sharon, I love the pictures your prose and poetry make me see. I especially like the last haiku – both the sun and you heading home! On what part of the coast is your cabin located?

      • Brad, the cabin is on Willapa Bay in Tokeland down by the Marina, about 30 minutes drive South from Westport.

    • I agree with Brad, Sharon — this was a pleasure to read. Your prose and poetry work well together. I like both haiku. Thank you for sharing!

    • All readers: Sharon sent me a beautiful photograph to go with this haibun. You can see it on the Poet’s Gallery. To view the gallery, click on the link in the sidebar on the right. (You might have to scroll up to get to the link.)

      Or follow this link to the gallery: http://lectiohaiku.inthecourtyard.com/poets-gallery/

      If you have a picture of yourself that you would like included in the gallery, or a picture to go with a haiku or haibun, you can send me the picture in email and I will add it to the gallery.

      Thanks for helping to make this page such a rich collection of prose, poetry, and images!

    • Marybeth Bland says:

      Sharon,

      I agree with Brad, this last haiku was picture perfect. I could just see the sun in the sky and smell the sea. Thank you

  13. Margaret, reading the attachment for your new Haiku class, I followed the instructions at the end. I wrote this one out as quickly as it popped into my head, taking no time to tweak it. Light was just beginning to appear out my window which faces north so I could not see the horizon but only highlights beginning to appear on the frosty ground. I have a friend with a new grandson only hours old and with that thought on my mind I also saw dawn this morning as a new birth. So this is my result. Sometimes I wonder though, if things that appear so clear to me in my own thoughts in the moment have no meaning to the reader making it risky to share.

    Morning
    fruit of night’s womb
    second chances

    • Brad Offutt says:

      Sharon, your thoughts, as you expressed them here, have considerable meaning to me. They are beautiful and moving. You may have written quickly, but you write well and you expressed your thoughts in a way that permits me to share them. Risky? Yes, it takes nerve to expose what’s deep within. So, thank you for taking that risk!

      • Brad Offutt says:

        Sharon, I just read Margaret’s excellent guidance about your latest creation. I am such a neophyte that I wasn’t paying attention to whether you gave us a true haibun with a pure haiku or whether it was something else. But as you follow expert guidance and your own heart in developing this beautiful work further, I want you to know what the poem said to me. It didn’t have much to do with your prose. I didn’t see the newborn child or the sunlight in it. First I saw morning being born out of night – light and day not just coming after night but somehow created by it. And then, in the last line’s wonderful twist, I saw night creating day so that I/we can do things not done or take roads not taken yesterday. Very personal for me – I have begun some nights concerned about “shouldn’t haves” or “should haves” only to wake next day reassured that life mostly lets us do it over as many times as it takes. I am really looking forward to any haibun or haiku you create as a next step, but I am very grateful for this poem all by itself.

    • Hi Sharon,

      I’m thinking about that risk that you mention. The risk of sharing brand new, unedited work, I suppose, is that thoughts and feelings might be misunderstood, which is always painful. But believe me, I can work on something all day, and it can still be misunderstood! The truth is that sharing what we write is always an act of courage.

      That’s where the craft of writing comes in. It takes courage to share new work. But to me the real, deep-down courage comes in listening to how others respond, accepting that they are telling me the truth about what they feel (even if it’s not what I want to hear at all!), looking back at my work, analyzing the difference between what they heard and what I meant, then working on my craft. That’s the difference between writing only for my own therapy, and writing to actually communicate. (As well as writing for my own therapy … have to admit that’s always a factor with me!)

      As usual, I love your story with the poem. And the story illuminates the poem. The poem has some beautiful language in it, but without the prose to accompany it, I think you’re right — the poem doesn’t carry the feeling all by itself. At least, it doesn’t for me.

      I like the first line of the poem for setting the time of day. But without your prose, I don’t see the sun in the phrase “fruit of night’s womb.” Since the third line is “second chances,” I would probably guess that the fruit of the night’s womb might be a dream about second chances, or maybe a thought or resolution that came out of all-night ruminations.

      Haiku works best if the images are simple and straightforward, rather than metaphorical. If you want the poem to stand alone from the prose, then my suggestion would be to look at the specific images in your prose, and make a haiku out of them. Here is some of the language that strikes me: my window which faces north (I’d probably change to facing north), highlights appearing on the frosty ground, a friend with a new grandson only a few hours old.

      Those are the images that gave you the feeling, and they can give us the feeling, too.

      Right now, even that is too much for a haiku. How did you hear about the birth? I might suggest a haibun in which the prose is all about the sunrise through the north-facing window, and the haiku is all about the news of the friend’s grandson. Or, you might look at the tanka poetic form, which is slightly longer and allows for more direct expression of emotion. You can read about tanka and see some examples on the web site of the Tanka Society of America: http://tankasocietyofamerica.com/. You might be able to get both the sunrise and the birth in a tanka.

      And if you keep working on this, I look forward to seeing where it goes!

    • And Sharon, I like Brad’s commentary on the poem, too! In support of his reading, I might suggest a small change that pulls the 2nd and 3rd lines together:

      Morning
      in the fruit of night’s womb
      second chances

      The 2nd and 3rd lines could also be reversed. Even though that breaks the short-long-short pattern, I like it because it’s more natural word order:

      Morning
      second chances
      in the fruit of night’s womb

  14. harvesters
    pulling carrots in the field
    a wedge of swans

    • Carolyn, what an interesting juxtaposition. It works for me … not sure why. Could be the echo of wedges in the two parts of the poem. A carrot has a wedge shape. And I can easily see the harvesters in my mind’s eye moving through the field in a V or wedge shape. And then, nearby, a wedge of swans. A subtle and lovely scene.

      Makes me think of “gendai haiku.” Literally translated as “modern” or “contemporary” haiku, it is also a movement in haiku away from classic or traditional approaches to the form. Gendai haiku poets often delight in putting together unexpected images. The juxtaposition is sometimes referred to as a “left turn.”

  15. The Hawk

    I am writing a haiku about a hawk that I watch as he hunts for prey.
    The third line of my poem is weak and lacks punch so I am hunting for a third line. In a way The Hawk and I are both looking for prey. His prey will fill his empty belly and my prey will fill out a poem but unlike the hawk I can PRAY for a third line.

    the hawk
    swoops low
    preying and praying

    Thank you, Margaret, for your patience, knowledge, kindness and most of all for putting up with me!!

  16. Marybeth Bland says:

    As I was reading the Sunday paper I happened to glance at an obituary. The face was a face I knew. An olde friend from the Y had died. She had not been coming much in the last two years. I have not been there since Nov 13 th so I did not know her health was frail.

    I got on myself for not sending her a Christmas card but I had sent very few out this year. Interesting when someone dies I always think Hos much more I should have done when the person was alive. I ger my on myself for not doing enough, I wonder if everyone does this.

    A twinkle of the eye
    A gentle laugh
    Forever remembered

    • Marybeth, this is a lovely tribute to lost friend.

    • Brad Offutt says:

      Marybeth, I’m with Sharon. Your words bring tears to my eyes. And yes, I do it too. But then I make myself recall some wise, healing advice – rather than dwelling on what I could have done, remember what we did do and what we meant to each other.

    • Thanks, Marybeth. My father died this past year, and I too have spent some time “getting on myself” for one thing or another I didn’t do, & that I “might have done.” It’s a strange thing about human nature that we remember the might-have-beens with more force than the good things that actually happened. I’m glad your poem records the twinkle and the laugh of relationship & connection. That’s the real stuff …. and it helps me remember the real stuff between my Dad & me, too..

  17. Brad and Margaret,
    I have been thinking about this for a few days trying to figure out how I feel about it. First off I have to say that Brad, you nailed my thoughts exactly as far as the haiku is concerned. I did not intend the reader to be drawn to the baby or the sunrise, but to exactly the thoughts you described. When I read your response it kind a spooked me for a second as it was like you were in my mind when I wrote it. I never expected anyone to follow my thoughts so closely in so few words.
    I also appreciate your feedback Margaret, you are always so helpful in your direction. I think if I were to have done this differently it would be not to send the story along with the haiku. I just threw that paragraph down on the keys and I was not thinking about it being part of a hibun. That was a mistake on my part. As I have thought about this haiku and the variations you gave me I have to say that my original piece carries my thoughts best. Just adding the word ‘in’ in the second line somehow changes the meaning for me. I like the lines you wrote too, but to me when I think about them they don’t portray my first thoughts in exactly the same way even though I like the way your suggestions sounds I have decided to keep my original haiku. Thank you both for responding, it has given me a lot to think about and that is always good. Yeah for this site!

    • Sharon, that is about the most gracious response to feedback I’ve seen! Thanks for sharing your musings and creative journey. When I first read Brad’s response to your poem, I admit it took me aback, because he did seem right on target to your original poem’s feeling and meaning … which made me realize that my own comments had gone in another direction.

      With all my heart, I believe that the most important thing you can do for another writer is simply *tell them what you experienced–what you saw, heard, and felt–when reading their work.* In talking about the haiku form, I sometimes get distracted from that fundamental value.

      And that’s what makes a forum like this so valuable. Not that we all give and get consistent feedback, but that we each speak truthfully from a unique point of view. In the different reactions, the poet gets a chance to see her work from different angles, reflecting different colors, like the turning of a prism.

      So … I am glad, Sharon, that in our various feedback you found the center, and it was there from the beginning. Way to own your own work!

    • Brad Offutt says:

      Sharon, bless you! It means so much to me to learn that what I feel reading your poem is what you felt creating it. I think sometimes you and I have stood in some of the same places. I was not in your head, but maybe I have been where you were. So when you used your craft (you write very well) and your courage to put yourself out there, I got it. Others, standing in other places, may see their own beauty in your words.

      And Margaret, bless you too! You are our faithful mentor and teacher. Often you must help us choose the right colors and must show us new ways to use our brushes; when you do that you can’t allow yourself to be captured by the meaning of the picture itself.

      Yes, hurray for this site and for everybody who’s part of it!

      • Marybeth Bland says:

        I just read all the comments to me and Sharon. I agree with Brad this is a wonderful site and Margaret I love your teaching. Reading all makes me more creative.

        There was another memory that came when I saw the picture of my friend in the obit page.

        I knew these women from the Y before Nickel. At first he did not come to the Y. One day I met these women at Starbucks so the could see nickel. When we arrived they were all sitting at the table with decadent treats before them. I thought nickel was going to grab the woman’s pastry on my left. I kept my eyes out. He fooled me and grabbed a chicolate cake from the woman on my right. That was the woman who died. She never let him forget it but she also started carrying treats in her pockets.

        My dog knows
        pockets filled with treats
        he sits and waits

  18. to open the door
    pull the cord
    a woodpecker knocks

    • Marybeth Bland says:

      Carolyn,

      This is good. I see myself opening a door to view the woodpecker. I see a red woodpecker. Today I read an article about owls being spotted sitting on rooftops .

      Snowy owls arrive
      Landing far from home
      We watch in awe

      • I can see two links between Marybeth’s and Carolyn’s poems: the two types of bird, and also “home” in Marybeth’s poem links (for me) to the open door in Carolyn’s. (That link is probably stronger for me because there’s a door knocker in the shape of a woodpecker on my front door!)

  19. Marybeth Bland says:

    Yes her haiku inspired me to write about the snowy owls.

    Here is one from today. Sharon came and we spend the day Downtown

    Liquid sun falls
    It drops on umbrellas
    They hold high

    My poem is a pacific Nortwest thus the first line

    • Yes, Marybeth and I had a delightful time down town yesterday and ate in quite a nice little sandwich place plus browsing some interesting shops. It was a rainy day, but none the less, enjoyable. On the way into town we saw people on a foot bridge overhead and decided to write haiku about our day. Here is mine.
      Crossing the bridge
      Boots, umbrellas and raincoats
      A black and yellow queue.

    • I especially like the first and last lines. “liquid sun falls” makes me think of sun mixed with rain, and the sunlight being caught in the raindrops. And I like the image of people holding their umbrellas high. Thanks, Marybeth!

  20. Brad Offutt says:

    cold light shoulders
    night clouds aside –
    moon break!

    • I love the feeling this haiku gives. It is very physical.

      • Brad Offutt says:

        Thank you, Sharon. After bedtime last night, with the lights out, it was pretty obvious that we were under cloud cover. All of a sudden moonlight came through the window, so I went to look. The wintery moon had appeared between clouds. Now I know that wind moved the clouds, but in that moment it felt like the moon had pushed them out of the way. And if we North-westerners can have sun breaks, why not moon breaks?

    • I like the cold light and the night clouds … the way the sounds echo each other.

  21. leafy feelers
    poking through the soil
    spring fever

    • Carolyn, I especially like your first line — wonderful the way the two words entwine in sound and sense. Something about the sound of the two words together helps me see the little shoots.

      Ahh … spring in the Pacific Northwest. Our longest season. Wonderful that it starts so early … and at the same time, I have to admit that sometime around the end of June, I’ll be sick of rain and desperate for summer!

  22. honking geese
    in early morning flyover
    reveille

  23. Marybeth Bland says:

    Red winged blackbirds
    Up high in the trees
    Sing

    Carolyn ,

    Mine is a quick haiku to answer yours.

  24. Shall we try again, Marybeth?

    two eagles
    tumbling in midair
    love call

  25. Marybeth Bland says:

    Two ducks
    Swim in a swollen pond
    Bliss

  26. Marybeth Bland says:

    Maybe instead of swim I should say

    Two ducks
    Paddle in a swollen pond
    Utter bliss

  27. two flickers
    at the suet feeder
    between showers

  28. Marybeth Bland says:

    Another

    Two seagulls
    Roaming in the garbage
    Searcing

  29. a sparrow
    sitting on the window sill
    the cat leaps

    • Margaret, after rethinking this — is this cause and affect relationship?

      Perhaps I shoulder have gone with this choice

      a sparrow
      sitting on the window sill
      the cat snores

      • Carolyn, I definitely like “the cat snores” better! Yes, your first version has the cause-and-effect problem … but I also like the second version for its humor.

  30. OK, I’ll jump in too,

    Geese land
    Foraging the fields
    Evening falls

  31. a magpie
    wearing a tuxedo
    a bridal party

  32. Groom’s men
    Partying in tuxedos
    Resemble penguins

    • Marybeth Bland says:

      I am responding to shAron,

      Bride and groom
      Dart from church
      Rice dribbles on their heads

  33. penguins
    skating on ice
    black and white pictures

  34. Brad Offutt says:

    black mountains divide
    white water from gleaming sky –
    moon on Disco Bay

  35. buffle heads
    swim in Disco Bay
    in the moonlight

  36. Yes, Brad, I should have mentioned that we, too, have a Discovery Bay.

  37. Awash embraced filled
    With by in to for God Love
    God in me in God

  38. Folks, you have taken us on an amazing poetic ride during January. Thank you — my heart overflows with gratitude!

    I’m especially loving the linking between poets and verses. All those birds, doing their thing! Makes me feel how interconnected we are, to each other, and to all creation.

    So … it’s February 1, and time to start a new conversation. I just posted a new Lectio for the month of February, “Dust and Ashes.” You can get to it through the menu system at the top of the page. Just choose Lectio+Haiku on the menu, and the new post will show up on top of the listing.

    Or, here’s the link to the new posting: http://lectiohaiku.inthecourtyard.com/2013/02/01/dust-and-ashes/

    To receive email notification of all comments, make a comment (add a haiku) to “Dust and Ashes,” then click the box that says “Notify me of follow-up comments via email.”

    IF YOU RELY ON EMAIL NOTIFICATIONS TO FOLLOW US, YOU NEED TO CLICK THAT BOX IN ORDER TO RECEIVE THE NOTIFICATIONS FOR THE NEW MONTH.

    I can’t wait to see where we’re going next in this poetic oddysey.

    love,
    Margaret