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Archive for spiritual writing

Posted by Paul J. Willis on
 February 1, 2014 

Just after Groundhog Day

Just after Groundhog Day, summer begins
in Santa Barbara. Keen smells of blossoms
layer the air, the yellow bloom of mustard
weed and sourgrass and acacia fulfilling
their own prophecy on every side.

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Posted by Paul J. Willis on
 January 1, 2014 

The Forest Primeval

I am five years old. It is a lamentable
week—or two weeks—after Christmas in Anaheim.
All the way around the block there are
Christmas trees at mute attention on the curb.

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Posted by Paul J. Willis on
 December 1, 2013 

Piano

The summer you were seven
you could hardly sleep
that night before your first recital.
“I’d rather break my arm,” you said.

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Posted by Paul J. Willis on
 November 1, 2013 

What We Have

There are still fall colors here, even in Santa Barbara:
the bright crimson of toyon berries, clustered
against the paling sky, the chartreuse mottling
of sycamore leaves and yellowing rust of bay …

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Posted by Paul J. Willis on
 October 1, 2013 

Listen

A lake lies all alone in its own shape.
It’s not going anywhere.
A lake can wait a long time
for a hiker to come
and camp on its shore.

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