Thursday, March 29, 2012

In Jeanne Finley’s Garden

Jeanne Finley is a freelance writer, poet, fiction writer, and editor. She was employed for many years by the New York State Writers’ Institute. To many people in the Capital District, she is also known as a tireless activist for human rights and environmental issues. Besides writing, Jeanne finds artistic expression in her inspirational garden and her photography. Her photographs are available for purchase.

To contact Jeanne, you can reach her at: finlandia [at]

Enjoy these two photos!

Morning Glories

Praying Mantis in the Spirea

Saturday, March 3, 2012

"Bell" by Cecily Parks

Writers, artists and photographers help us appreciate the natural world through the lens of their sensitivity and unique vision. Our selection of responses from the arts begins with a poet who transforms snow through her associative genius.

Cecily Parks is the author of the poetry collection Field Folly Snow. She recently earned a PhD in English from the CUNY Graduate Center. A resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts, she teaches poetry writing at Columbia University.

This poem first appeared in the January/February 2012 issue of Orion magazine, located in Great Barrington, MA. Their website is


This newness of snow. This boot-ringing 
as the snow warms in the sun to crush. These holes 
we wind around the witnessing pines. This
violation of white. This slowness of moose. 
This counting of steps. This counting of scars 
in the bark: the warty burl bulging low 
on the trunk, the black-scratchings left
by a bear learning to climb. This counting
of sleeps between this country & the next country 
we call home. These branches shucking off 
the statuesque in avalanches of needles & ice. 
This progress, as in the wind-scalloped snowmeadow 
pretending to be moon. This love that sets us scrambling 
over the map’s last ridge, our red hoods bright
in shrunken sky. This metallic weather in which we 
are the ore. This alder. These crimson-tipped willows 
reverberating next to a river of turquoise ice. This 
following the deep tracks of one coyote stepping 
where another has stepped. This wilderness 
that we trespass, burning like berries in the juniper 
& becoming the air in the belfry.
                           By Cecily Parks