Things I Found in the Woods
by Bernadette E. Kazmarski
Tiny rivulets of water released from thawing soil
flowing beneath last year’s debris, trickling and gurgling all around
hurrying down hillsides before the freeze returns.
A cup-shaped fungus holding a tablespoon of snowmelt
for a song sparrow to sip, practicing its vernal melody
for the time when spring arrives in earnest.
Ferns, newly-green, draped on cliffs,
fluttering like garlands in the mild, caressing breeze
gathering a little nourishment to last the rest of the winter.
Fallen trees blanketed with bright green moss,
thick and lush already in the brief January thaw
filling a span of life in but a few days.
Four young white-tailed deer, capricious as the gusts,
feeling the flush of their first spring as adults
cavorting as if winter might not return tomorrow.
An understanding that life and love are cycles,
and that the moment must be taken for what it offers
even if what it offers is not what we expect.
The strength and courage to show as much dignity as you,
and to walk this last precious part of your path with you
and when I can walk no more beside you
to let you go.
poem copyright ©2006 Bernadette E. Kazmarski
I'VE ALWAYS FOUND the January thaw, whenever it comes, to be a magical time, a gift from our compassionate mother in nature, perhaps, the world so full of life and energy that tired souls weary of the struggle of daily existence in a harsh frozen world will be reminded of better days to come. It feels like a moment outside of normal chronological time where we can find peace in a chapter of hardship, difficulty or sadness.
Typically I post this poem during the "January thaw", a few days of warm sunny weather before the end of winter when all the snow melts and I run around in bare feet. The cold returns, and even snow, but those few days have broken the spell of winter. If we are perceptive they also teach us a lesson.
Writing the poem
In January 2006 I ran off into the woods in shirt sleeves and bare feet but a heavy heart with the impending loss of my sweet and gentle cat Moses. In exploring the blooming of new life in just this brief period of thaw I found the wisdom to help me understand Moses's acceptance of her own fate, and accept my own role in her transition. It's been a lesson that's carried me through many losses since then, of beloved felines, of my mother, and others gone from my life.
Recording the poem
Every year the winter opens up to a few days of warm intoxicating sun and mud in January or February, and I've run outside to celebrate the day. In 2012 it was February 5, two days after my cat Cookie died, and as I experienced the warm day without her and remembered this poem, I knew exactly what I wanted to create as a dedication to my faithful heart cat, my best friend. I decided to follow through with the idea of recording my poems and even adding a slideshow of images, and began with this poem in dedication to Moses, to Cookie, and to all the wonderful cats who've added so much to my life, leading me to a new means of expression and sharing my creative efforts.
I first published the poem on The Creative Cat in 2011, just weeks after losing my mother, with an essay remembering Moses and that day in the woods, and remarking that, of the nine cats who'd been with me when I wrote the poem, only two were left, Cookie and Kelly, but a whole new family of cats had built itself on the roots of the last one. As the years passed, each year I found new wisdom in returning to these thoughts.
But now as the years have passed all my losses are no longer losses, not a big chasm of dark sadness but a bright collective of memories of all their lives mingled with mine in the same way I remember the turns of the seasons. Their losses are not separate from me and my life, but their lives are a permanent part of who I am and the cats I live with today as I remember being in the garden with Moses, the day I first saw Stanley with ice crystals collecting on his fur, the way the furniture was arranged when I moved in here and everyone collected on the table by the door when I left in the morning, watching Mimi outside and realizing she had to come to live with me.
Their lives are not a part of my past, but of my present; just as the earth holds the memories of all that’s past and turns it into new life, so do I.
We are resilient; even after the harshest treatment has forced us to retreat and protect ourselves, we are ready again for the fullness of life when encouraging conditions return.
The Poem
In that January 2006 I ran out as far as I could go on the trail and into the woods on foot to see the brilliant swatches of green catching the late winter sun, the stream rushing along, birds flying crazily overhead and singing in one big chorus. I had never before experienced the spring thaw in such wonderment at the transience of life—still winter but everything that lived was taking advantage of the moment.
So was Moses. So should I.
So I resolved just to let her follow her course and she would let me know what to do.
I have kept this lesson in my heart with each of the older kitties I’ve loved since. I don’t care what’s coming for us. I love them right now, this moment.
Ten years ago I lived with an enitrely different group of nine cats. 2012 began with only Cookie and Kelly still with me from those early days of feline rescue, beginning as an artist, setting up my business, working at home. By the end they had joined Moses and all the others, and while I feel bereft at both their loss and the loss of the connection with that past, they left me in good paws, Mimi having spent a good part of Cookie's last year apparently learning from Cookie her role as main human caretaker, and Mimi and her children helping Kelly, and me, through those last confusing months.
Now Mimi and her children, Mewsette, Mr. Sunshine, Giuseppe and Jelly Bean, are gone and my household is younger cats from the past decade of rescue and TNR.
As I said in 2012: “Ten years from now I'm sure the group will be similarly changed. But each of them from before this time and the years to come is forever a part of my life.”
“That's why I continue to share them all here, in photos and art.”
Listen to the Poem
I had always enjoyed reading my poetry to others, and had wanted to try a little multi-media project including a slideshow of photos with narration. I was glad to create this first one for Cookie, who spent many long days and nights over 20 years staying by my side as I found my creative life.
There are no photos of Cookie or any other cats in this; though I wrote it for Moses and dedicate this recording to Cookie, it is what I found I feel about love, loss, and letting go. I was led to this knowledge, of course, by my cats. Thank you kitties, as always, for showing me the way.
It's also not timed quite right as some of the groups of images are shorter or longer than the stanza while I was using older software. Some of the photos I included at the end are from significant moments, for instance, the asters on Cookie's picnic table bench from a morning Cookie and I were in the yard in October 2011, the "Wolf Moon" in the bare tree and the sunset with the evening star references to my mother who also passed at this time in 2011. Coordinating, more or less, with the second verse, the forsythia with the tiny song sparrow in the middle of it is actually from the morning of February 2 as I held Cookie on my lap and knew her process of dying had begun; it was the day of transition from winter to spring and all the birds were singing their spring songs, and a song sparrow landed very near to us and sang for a while.
I recorded this essay separately for this post and added it to the original recording and slideshow of the poem.
I have since invested in a better microphone and have more advanced software, and some day will recreate this including not only the photos but the video clips so you can hear the birds and rushing water that I had first imagined, but for now, this is the version I created with my whole heart in the moment.
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