One of the founders of modernist poetry, Ezra Pound, advised poets and artists to “make it new.” I’ve never before seen a poem about helping a tree shake the snow from itself, and I like this one by Thomas Reiter, who lives in New Jersey. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Releasing a Tree

Softly pummeled overnight, the lower

limbs of our Norway spruce

flexed and the deepening snow held them.

Windless sunlight now, so I go out

wearing hip waders and carrying

not a fly rod but a garden hoe. I begin

worrying the snow for the holdfast

of a branch that’s so far down

a wren’s nest floats above it like a buoy.

I work the hoe, not chopping but cradling,

then pull straight up. A current of air

as the needles loft their burden

over my head. Those grace notes

of the snowfall, crystals giving off

copper, green, rose—watching them

I stumble over a branch, go down

and my gloves fill with snow. Ah, I find

my father here: I remember as a child

how flames touched my hand the time

I added wood to the stove in our ice-fishing

shanty, how he plunged that hand

through the hole into the river, teaching me

one kind of burning can ease another.

The branch bobs then tapers into place

and composes itself, looking

unchanged though all summer

it will bring up this day from underfoot.

During the past few weeks as I’ve worked through a bout of depression, I’ve been learning ways to manage and uplift my mood. I’ve discovered that I wake up feeling fairly cheerful, but crash around 2 p.m., so it helps to have something fun planned or someplace happy to go around then. And while I have several “happy places,” for me there’s almost no place happier than the barn where I keep my horse. It’s a few minutes from my house, but it might as well be 100 miles away from all my cares.

Why do I love it so much? Aside from the obvious (my dream horse Tank lives there), it’s quiet and peaceful. There are lots of animals, both domestic and wild, and I have good friends there. The barn also holds great memories of accomplishment and fun times. When I first started lessons there, I knew nothing about the care of horses or how to ride. Little by little, I’ve learned everything from how to properly groom a horse, to how to jump small jumps.

When I’m at the barn, I’m not surrounded by competing things I “should” be doing. I don’t need to choose between working on an essay and making dinner, reading a book or folding laundry. I’m doing both what needs to be done and what I want to do. While I stand in a cloud of dust and hair as I brush Tank, I’m also looking for cuts, swellings, abrasions, bug bites or the start of any skin or hoof issues. I “need” to groom him—and I love doing it (while not for everyone, grooming a horse is one of my favorite simple pleasures). He loves it too, especially since he gets pieces of carrot as I work my way around his body. 

Once I walk through the gate, I don’t hear the voices in my head telling me I’m not good enough—I hear turkeys gobbling, the snort, squeal or blow of a horse, chickens clucking. I don’t smell the trash that needs to be emptied—I smell fresh air, hay and the warm scent of horse. I don’t see all the chores I have left to do, I see pricked ears, a gleaming coat, and the eager expression of an animal waiting for me.

When I’m ready to leave, I’m filthy, often sweaty and fatigued, but my mind is still. If I’ve been mulling over a problem, I often know the next step to take. If I felt a little icky physically, I’ve probably forgotten all about it. Things have settled and shifted, and I’m at peace and, at least for now, happy.

What about you? Where is your “happy place”?

“We insist that we can’t possibly be happy until tomorrow, when things change. But if happiness is possible tomorrow, it is also possible today. If love is possible tomorrow, it is possible today. We can find healing even if nothing changes. To surrender to life ‘as is’ can miraculously transform situations. It is in this surrender that we are able to receive. The universe gives us the tools to fulfill our destinies when we let things be.”

—Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler, Life Lessons: Two Experts on Death and Dying Teach Us About the Mysteries of Life and Living.

I’m sorry I’ve been a bit MIA here lately—ironically, or perhaps not as I’ll explain below—the author of a blog called Catching Happiness has been coping with a bout of depression.

I chose “catching happiness” as a theme for the blog because I’m not a naturally “happy” person. I’m naturally anxious and a little depressive. Since I know my default setting leans toward “sad” I work to look for the bright side, searching for the positive to counteract my natural tendencies, and mostly I’m able to maintain an optimistic outlook and attitude. When the dark side looms, sometimes there’s a triggering event, and sometimes it creeps up on me without my noticing…until I start to feel better, not realizing until then how unhappy I’d been feeling. Fortunately, I’ve never been suicidal, and I’ve never been so depressed that I couldn’t get out of bed. Sometimes, though, like during the past couple of weeks, it’s taken most of my energy to keep up with the basics.

Over the years, I’ve learned that during down times, I need routines and behaviors I can reach for when I begin to slide. The trick is making preparations before the darkness hits, because once it does, it’s too late to come up with ways to cope. To support myself, I focus on three things:

Photo courtesy dimitri_c

It pains an old booklover like me to think of somebody burning a book, but if you’ve gotten one for a quarter and it’s falling apart, well, maybe it’s OK as long as you might be planning to pick up a better copy. Here Ron Koertge, who lives in Pasadena, has some fun with the ashes of love poems. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Burning the Book

The anthology of love poems I bought

for a quarter is brittle, anyway, and comes

apart when I read it.

One at a time, I throw pages on the fire

and watch smoke make its way up

and out.

I’m almost to the index when I hear

a murmuring in the street. My neighbors

are watching it snow.

I put on my blue jacket and join them.

The children stand with their mouths

open.

I can see nouns—longing, rapture, bliss—

land on every tongue, then disappear.