Translucent fresh green fir branches

In morning angled sunlight.

Winter’s leftovers scattered in

Shaded patches of snow.

Flatten forest litter, autumn’s evidence blended with

The woodland floor, the stage is set for the next act.

Fresh green pachysandra shows first through the

Dried leaves, a promise of the greening to come.

The cool breeze stops for a second and my body is instantly

Warmed by the sun, from the inside out.

The Dark trunks and branches now etched across the sky

Will soon be hidden by a torrent of green to remain

Hidden away until autumn revels the bones.

The roar of the falls is back,

The encasement of ice has melted and the

Water and sound flow freely once more.

Open spring evening windows let in the

Voice of falls and peepers, owls and fox.

It is the sound track of the season of birth and growth, begun in

Earnest almost as if it knows of its time is limited in the cycle of seasons.

A short time of fevered growth, life shared and reproduced.

A lifetime in a season, until the year’s circle revolves and

The long time of quiet, white, rest

Returns again.

Sunday morning Bach

Sweet spring sunshine and cooling breezes,

White puffs of clouds drift in crystal blue skies

And birds sing in joy and welcome.

My little deck is my spot,

A haven  of sunlight and windchimes.

A space for me to be, just be and let the words flow in from

Somewhere else, through, and maybe in spite of, me.

Bach flows out through the door and into the forest.

It is a perfect fit and complements the trees and sky.

Echoes with a man’s gift of voice to joy.  The trees know

and resonate in response to this gift. I can feel them.

Geese fly overhead,

Lending their voices to the serenade.

As I sit here, tea cup in hand, sharing this pace with the cats and sunshine,

I can think of no better place to be.

The music fills my heart, the forest fills my soul

With the essence of truth, and

The sunshine fills my dreams with the promise of hope and

A sence that the world is beautifutl, as it is

Meant to be, we need only to look for and welcome in the joy

Hari Om.

Snow is gone but the ground

Still holds its cold.

Warmth in spots, sun showers

Sink beneath my skin warming me from the inside out.

Familiar places return from the

Snows, like crops from the field.

Plants and flower stalks rise from

The ashes of last year’s autumn,

And leaves flattened by winter’s drifts

Stir in the spring breeze and blow in gangs across the yard.

All is in motion, change is in the air

And the earth responds.

The ice comes out of the birdbath in a saucer

shaped disk, embedded with seed husks.

The spring forest greens from the ground up and red and brown catkins

decorate the maple and aspen tree tops.

Even the sound of the windchimes responds to the spring breezes.

Winter’s harsh clanging is softened to a lovely lull of melody.

Oak trees gladly relinquish last year’s leaves to

make room for new buds opening.

As if to say, “Now is the time – the moment has come, embrace the new season

of growth and life until the cycle repeats and winter’s snow returns with the

silence and stillness of ice.”

The snow melts and earth softens.

Sprouts erupt and the worms awaken.

The green overtakes the brown

In slow stages.

It sneaks in at the bottom first then

In from the edges.

Herbs spring to life

Under cover of dead leaves.

Perennials all, they recognize

The season’s changes first

And push themselves through the snow.

First to rise, first to shine.

A change in seasons has begun, another winter survived

And the hope and promise of spring proves true yet again.