600 Doubts


Green Mountains burn
at the edges today.
September sumac
gone fast ablaze,
Mount Ellen royal
in her golden strings,
we travel through New England fog
eyes fixed on this snow
rising up with the day.

Somewhere under there,
is one rusty tractor, I think,
and two horses in blankets green,
blinking dew.
Somewhere under there,
river otters burrow and slide,
porcupines spread thousands of quills
in dark shadows of eastern hemlocks
sapsuckers press into channels,
ferns collect one more shade of grey.

Fog meets up with the Clouds,
we meet up with the Sea,
and I lean ashore
stretched in longest of doubts:
Do we only love what we understand?
Do we only understand what we love?
Can same water that lift us, drown us?

“We missed the low tide…”,
I crumble under deep water.
But boy grabs the bucket,
presses on crunchy shells
like some yogi not feeling the pain.
Past the barnacle castles,
steaming pies of seaweed,
past tidal markings of meaning,
muddy splash on his face.
“Somewhere under there!
Somewhere under there are the crabs!
Six hundred crabs!”,
he is certain.


About BeeHappee

Where have all the bees gone? Where have all the flowers gone? https://beehappeenow.wordpress.com
This entry was posted in Human Condition, Nature, Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

26 Responses to 600 Doubts

  1. migarium says:

    It is really good to see you again my dear Earthling friend!

  2. Nice. “Can the same waters that lift us, drown us?” It can. It can. That might be the question for all time in all situations, pre-judices, and sure-ness.

  3. nicoleaugust says:

    Yes, nice. Sometimes I measure my progress by how well I can sit with my doubts; make friends with them.

  4. Scott says:

    A post from Bee! And a wonderful one. Thanks for the soul-searching questions.
    How are you?

    • BeeHappee says:

      Thanks for stopping by, Scott. I am better than ever, and really enjoy watching the amazing progress on your project. Will catch up soon, as soon as crispy fall winds shake me out of my laziness. 🙂

  5. shoreacres says:

    Oh, I’m happy to see you post again! I’ve seen you around, but missed your own writing. The poem is lovely, too, and poignant. I especially like:

    “Do we only love what we understand?
    Do we only understand what we love?”

    The answer is yes, and yes. It doesn’t matter which door we enter: understanding or love. Both lead to the same place.

    • BeeHappee says:

      Linda, I love your line about the door. Thank you for that and for your continued encouragement. I feel like just finding discipline to write up and work on what comes up very beneficial. I feel completely ‘out of shape’ when I do not do it. And after a summer spent speaking Lithuanian and Russian over in the Baltics, getting back to English language is a challenge. 🙂

      I am savoring some good future time to read what you had crafted recently. I almost wish your posts were in a book format, they deserve better than a pixelated computer screen.

      The fog is so incredible here in New England. I am a fog person, and I love it.
      We read that Carl Sandburg poem with kids today:

      “The fog comes
      on little cat feet.

      It sits looking
      over harbor and city
      on silent haunches
      and then moves on.”

      Best wishes to you,

  6. Hariod Brawn says:

    As always, a wonderfully evocative and richly wrought work, Kristina. Sending you all best wishes, again, as always. Hariod

  7. I am pleased you made it back to shore.. 🙂 Lovely Kristina.. You set the imagination going with your words..

    • BeeHappee says:

      Thank you, Sue! Sometimes lines between faith and imagination get blurred. We did manage to find a magnificent river otter and adore it before it hid. Moose, on the other hand, I know it is there somewhere. Numbers drastically dwindled in Vermont from 4800 to just 2000 in the last decade. I am trying to keep my faith that nature, including people will do what is good.
      Happy dreamwalking!

  8. Michael says:

    So very lovely, Kristina! I loved the line of horses blinking dew, and the way you take us into the real beauty of the landscape–including that tractor!– but most of all the way the adult (you) lean along the shore and into the mystery, asking questions that speak of uncertainty, while the child forges ahead, knowing exactly how many crabs are hidden from view. It was for me a beautiful moment, because your love then becomes tangible to us.

    I think loving and understanding do go together at times, if not always. Certainly our race to understand what boxes and definitions apply to one another reduces genuine understanding, and hinders our capacity to love.


    • BeeHappee says:

      Michael, thank you for your generous words. Thank you for your reminder of how we can race to understand only to be blind to genuine understanding. I had very much soaked up much of that tendency through my life’s journey. A good thing perhaps, gives me a chance to practice some heavy rowing to get to clearer waters.
      A child forging ahead is probably one of the stronger forces in this world, a miracle to admire, a reminder of our selves that get lost dusty in the cow webs some place.
      I appreciate your heart’s bigness and the bigness you see in everything and everyone else.
      Peace to you too,

  9. Hello Bee.

    Poetry always finds its way back. No matter how long away, nor the convolutions in getting there.

    • BeeHappee says:

      Thank you for stopping by, Will. Yes, indeed, it sneaks in like a fox to a chicken coop through some holes you never knew existed. It tickles your cheek like a moonlight shinning through small opening in the curtains. It just finds you.
      The other day, we walked the trails of Robert Frost in Ripton Vermont, where he lived for 23 summers and his poetry is scattered on the trailside. And I was wondering if the poetry was in him or in this valley covered in the red fall carpets.
      Best wishes,

  10. Walking My Path: Mindful Wanderings in Nature says:

    I love this Kristina!

  11. Bill says:

    “stretched in longest of doubts”
    I wonder if there is something about being outside, in natural settings, that facilitates the stretching. I often find myself stretched in long doubts, deep in thought, talking to myself even, while working alone outside. Maybe it would be interesting if I could have a deep philosophical discussion with the goats. But they just stare at me, or paw me for a treat. If we understand each other, it’s only vaguely. But there is a type of love we share. Or at least I choose to think so.

    • BeeHappee says:

      Thank you for mentioning that, Bill, the silence of the animal / tree/ mountain reflecting back onto us. As homo sapiens we evolved ourselves into sometimes constricted little selves lost in the mazes of though, but, oh, we need those long stretches and spaces even more so.

  12. megdekorne says:

    ” somewhere under their ” … I love that line especially …beautiful poetry you write ! Thank you for your kind introduction from Michaels site …I’m honored to be here …blessings and love , megxxx

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