GATHERING by Nina Bagley

We are gatherers,
the ones who pick up sticks and stones
and old wasp’s nests fallen by the
door of the barn,
walnuts with holes that look like
eyes of owls,
bits of shells not whole but lovely

in their brokenness
we are the ones who bring home
empty eggs of birds
and place them on a small glass shelf
to keep for what? How long?
It matters not. What matters
Is the gathering,
the pockets filled with remnants
of a day evaporated, the traces of
certain memory, a lingering smell,
a smile that came with the shell.


(I love picking up organic bits of things.  They make the loveliest of art.  Whether I am creating a tepee made from birch branches, a wind chime of shells and sticks, or an arbor from Panmure Island driftwood … all these found objects make home feel more like home.)

Sharon Robson,   Feb 2016