Julia Fehrenbacher: "Recipe for Falling in Love"

The truth is
if we slowed down
and got close enough
we wouldn't be able to handle
the beauty

on this summer evening, everywhere
my eyes fall
another miracle
stares back

giant oaks spread out like gods
big-eared bunnies munching under open sky
blackberries plump on the vine
invite me to taste their almost sweet
insides. As I round the corner
I lock eyes with three deer—all of us still
and staring. With our eyes
we say—I love you. Winged ones
I cannot see sing
their end-of-the-day lullaby

each step
lifts me higher
until at last, breathing more deeply
than I have in a long time
I see

the whole wide sweeping
tree-filled valley. And then—I weep
for, truly I cannot handle the beauty
even from this distance. Then—
I would not make this up
a whole family of wild turkeys
cross the trail in front of me—each one pausing
to wait for the next. All of this

my heart
gets to see, to feel—to memorize. With light
now fading
I begin my long slow
walk home

slow enough to notice
golden grass bent in prayer
slow enough
to bend too—praying
that I will never stop
seeing

praying that I will walk
slow enough to fall in love
again and again
and again

even if it makes me weep
even it feels too much to handle

praying
that each step draws me close
and closer still



"Recipe for Falling in Love" by Julia Fehrenbacher. Text presented here by poet submission. © Julia Fehrenbacher.

Art credit: "Turkeys on the Deer Trail," oil painting on canvas by Kenneth Helgren.

Julia Fehrenbacher: "Hold Out Your Hand"

Let's forget the world for a while
fall back and back
into the hush and holy
of now

are you listening? This breath
invites you
to write the first word
of your new story

your new story begins with this:
You matter

you are needed—empty
and naked
willing to say yes
and yes and yes

Do you see
the sun shines, day after day
whether you have faith
or not
the sparrows continue
to sing their song
even when you forget to sing
yours

stop asking: Am I good enough?
Ask only
Am I showing up
with love?

Life is not a straight line
it's a downpour of gifts, please—
hold out your hand

"Hold Out Your Hand" by Julia Fehrenbacher. Presented here by poet submission. © Julia Fehrenbacher.

Art credit: "Woman Holding Hands Out with Palms Facing Up," photograph by Alain Couillaud (originally sepia).

Julia Fehrenbacher: "What I've Learned from the Dark"

It seems we must be stripped
of the skin
of all we think beautiful
before we open to the kind of beauty
that can't go away.
It seems sky must pour
and howl like it will never stop
before we notice the smile
of our own forever sun. It seems
we must hunt with starving
hungry eyes before we know
this belly is and has always been
full. It seems this wall
deep in the center must be hammered down
before we let soft, breathing hands
curl in around us. Each drop
of dark carries
with it a candle of holy
light—with each miracle breath
we are invited to turn toward
the nearest whispering spark
and, like momma bird sheltering her baby—like a pebble
in stream's safe lap—
listen

"What I've Learned from the Dark" by Julia Fehrenbacher. Published here via poet submission. © Julia Fehrenbacher.

Art credit: Untitled image by unknown photographer (originally color).