The Stations of the Year

“Till summer folds her miracle…when sacrament is done”
Emily Dickinson, Poem #342

Chalice after chalice opened day after day
Until autumn crocus filled and faded.
That holy season closed
with their benediction.

Blessed be the smaller celebrations
of winter camellia and Lenten rose,
while convents of clouds shed
rain and snow, winter’s ministrations,
and underground sacred preparation
for earth’s long resurrection

©2015 Marguerite Beck-Rex


About inkpaintwords

A feminist writer and artist with a penchant for all things French, living in Washington DC. My love of language led me, indirectly, to my pleasure in gardening, drawing and watercolor. It began with a book, a collection of New Yorker garden columns by Katherine White, wife of its founding editor E.B.White. Her enthusiastic appraisal of the literary merit of various garden catalogs led me to collect and keep her favorites as well as to hoard with them some more recently-emerged seed, bulb and seed catalogs. The beautiful catalogs inspired me to little by little turn our entire front lawn (our home had a wooded ravine close behind) into a garden. That grew into a lovely site with two simple arches, a gliding bench on a little sitting patio and modest slate paths winding through beds of shade lovers and whatever plants supposedly in need of full sun that I could manage to coax into colorful healthy bloom. A curiosity about color and color theory emerged as I became keenly interested in impressionist painters; that interest merged in some way with my urge to garden. I acquired more than one book about Monet’s garden and gardens of other impressionist painters, both French and American. One day I picked up a magazine for painters, and found inside an article about a painter I’d known. Among examples of her splendid watercolor paintings was her watercolor of her garden at that time. Suddenly I could think of nothing more exciting than painting my garden. I enrolled in her watercolor class in The Art League in Alexandria, VA. The influence that the collection of Katherine White’s columns about the literary merits of certain garden catalogs has had on my life has come full now. Ink, Paint & Words combines what has become an obsession with drawing and watercolor with my passion for language. Yes, I still garden. A table full of blooming potted plants sits on my apartment patio, backed by an ivy covered fence with park trees behind. My patio, and my larger environment of Washington DC, together provides wonderful vistas for drawing and painting. For a number of years annual trips to France gave me and my companions extravagantly colorful panoramas and charming tableaux for brush and pen. And yes, now I’ve painted in Monet’s gardens several times. But that, as they say, is another story.
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2 Responses to The Stations of the Year

  1. Marguerite, your poetry continues to delight and amaze me.
    I believe that you have a huge gift.
    Your work should be published, and seen by
    many people. You are hiding your light under the
    proverbial bushel!


    • Oh, dear Priscilla, I don’t seem to know how to get out from under my bushel. Suggestions are welcome. Thank you so much

      I’ve been thinking of you, of course–Hotel Aston and all that–are you doing any traveling this year? I loved our trip last year but have a clearer picture of my limitations, and as much as I love it, am hesitant to try something like it again. You and your students were so wonderful and helpful.

      I seem to have the wrong e-mail address for your sister. Would you send the right one to me?

      Warmest wishes,


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