I know myself in all seasons

How to celebrate poetry and tiny wins amidst full-catastrophe living

Sometimes all we have to give is a poem. A few words strung together, fueled by reflection, rage, grief, hope, love.

When I wrote Harvesting Wild Light, I felt juicy and hopeful. My skin had been drinking in the sunshine while overlooking a beautiful lake where a bald eagle swooped low across the water. My lovely boys swam, jumped, and splashed. They constructed elaborate sand road and waterways while I relaxed under a big, floppy sunhat.

photo collage: Leah Kent

This season has been tumultuous and icy, literally and figuratively. My heart is fraying under the heartache of societal and governmental chaos. For years now, even when I felt a breakdown was certainly on the way, I stayed present to the good times. I remained buoyed by just being fully here, in our little bubble of a valley, with our sanctum of trees and good fortune.

What are we supposed to do when the dissonance between a sweet day and a world, climate, and culture on fire starts to ring in our ears and rattle us to the bone?

I have been excited about the possibility of finally sharing that Harvesting Wild Light is published. Part of me wants to crow “she is finally here!” and invite you to share it with your friends, purchase a copy, and let these little love poems bring you a droplet of beauty.

Yet I resist, because of those familiar refrains of creative doubt:

• Who cares?

• Why bother?

• What use is a poem when we all have Very Important and Hard Things To Do?

And yet, I know that we must be nourished in some way to resist. Must find the beauty we are fighting for. Perhaps we need poetry and songs to help us lick our wounds and settle our nerves so we can rise up again, stronger than before. More filled with purpose, intensity, and a singular focus on creating change.

In fact, when I feel the waves of despair threaten to crash over me, I often turn to the voice of other very real women to help me remain calm. Friends and authors. Sisters and kindred spirits. Here on Substack, I love

Katherine North

and

Rebecca Van Damm

for their sage wisdom and perspective on life and business and staring down the patriarchy while remaining level headed and drinking in beauty.

Perhaps the best thing any of us could do is write even more poems and love notes, and host informal gatherings in our homes and in nature.

I would love to hear what you’re doing to tend to yourself right now. How are you coping, thriving, connecting? What is keeping you steady and sane?

And what kind of writing gatherings would feed you right now? In-person retreats? A monthly virtual writing session? I’m so curious to know what you’re craving as I consider how to make more space for others to write this year and beyond.

in all seasons

I know myself in all seasons
summer sweat and raw hunger
under humid sun storms
cracked skin and hurried work
to tie up loose threads in fall
before the first silent snows

I sleep through short days of winter
allowing the fire of inner vision
to smolder and draw down 
instructions from the 
numinous compass to 
guide the reawakening of spring

from Harvesting Wild Light