Good Enough

I can’t get to it all,

But its good enough.

I can accept that now.

The urgency for more is gone.

My time is well spent, and it is enough.

Less means more.

More time for each one,

Each bean, each tomato, each seed.

The rows welcome me to the garden

Each day filled with goodness and grace.

Jars, 6 at a time with more tomorrow, gleam on the kitchen counter.

I savor the moments of steaming pots and boiling beets.

Summer heart shared with fogged windows and pinging jar seals.

It is more than good enough.

Summer Sweet

Mist clings to the clover

And rolls as breath among the gardens.

On sultry summer mornings,

The air is perfumed with the essence of savory herbs and

Delights the senses of the trees.

Heavy air holds the flavor of flowers and

Slips in silence over webs woven between blades of grass in midnight’s darkness.

Hay fields stir, awakened by the morning’s sun warmed breezes and

Another summer day begins.

Summer Nights

Star fields swim on summer nights,

As Moon rolls across the sky,

Stirring them in her wake.

At midnight, Mother rests, sleepy from summer sun’s toasting,

While crickets quiet down and trees rest their arms and sleep too.

Gentle night breezes stir leaves in a quiet hush and

Mother Earth sighs and surrenders to another

Summer night in peace.

August

August, a month of

Heavy air, morning mists and summer’s last hurrah.

Its sultry nights are drenched in humid air and thunder

With light shows between the clouds at midnight and

Rain hissing in the dark on the forest green.

Late summer dawns are still and thick and hang over

Flowers spent and gardens full.

In late August the earth speaks to me in fruits and vegetables,

Hay fields and corn rows, empty fields and full root cellars,

Reminding me that Summer’s end is near.

An Everlasting Light

I need to see the moon lit patterns of white and shadow on the grass and hear how they speak to me once more.

The chimes are calling me again from the silence of my soul to look, listen and observe.

I need to hear the hungry owl’s cries in the night, feel its silent wings move swiftly in the darkness,

Too swiftly for its pray, and watch with detachment the

Swift death, natural and inevitable, made a villain only

By my thoughts.

I need to leave my disturbed thoughts and become the stillness in the chaos,

I need to reenter the silent swiftness of the owl’s wings and moon shadows.

 

For it is the only place to be and

The only place where I have ever existed.

I must never be distracted again.

My being had begun to seep away while I was preoccupied,

Distracted by another, an unnatural evil but one of my own making.

 

But the owl’s wings are bringing me home now,

My time of regression is done, but it has taken its toll.

 

My heart is weaker, my thoughts harder to read.

There is never regressing without damage to my soul.

 

Solitude and stillness, as a getaway to the road back, are coming into view…

The road back leads to the place of reclamation of my soul,

 

Back to the essence of bliss, to the everlasting light and to

His hand in mine.

 

Dissolved in the Liquid Son

 

Impostors by fate but originally

Miracles at birth.

Now holed up in falsities and

Missing the point.

Unsettled souls reap only what

They sow, they received no gifts and are giving none in return.

No promises are kept, no dreams fulfilled.

Maybe next time they say, but next time never comes.

It is the same ending, over and over and over.

A sadness steeped in familiarity, with

Seduction, for its own sake,

The only prize.

It is a shallow, stagnate prize

But the only reward there is.

It is time to break this spell of soullessness and

Open to the pain and recognition of your deluded being.

Absorb it, take it in and by doing so defuse

Its dark energy.

Deny its claim on you,

Step away from its hold and

Watch, watch as it shrinks

And fades.

Watch it be consumed by the light,

And dissolved in the liquid love of the Son.

Watch it be taken from you

To hurt you no more.

Awaken and feel the light and goodness

Of who God made you to be.

It is there, already in you, see it for yourself

And when you do…

Pain will lose its sting and

Darkness will be no more.

 

 

A Robin Sings at Dawn

 

A robin sings at dawn and

The day breaks on a new world.

 

A world different from the one

The sun set on yesterday.

 

It is the same earth but

A new world.

 

My world is not the same as yours and

Your world can never be the same as mine as I am not you.

 

Our eyes work in the same way, yet

See everything differently.

 

A million souls have been lost since yesterday, but

A million more were born.

 

We are not alone or the same…

 

Watch the progression of the wind through the trees.

Notice how each tree moves to its own song and in its own world.

 

As do we…

 

Do you feel the same breeze that moves the trees?

Do you know and hear their songs?

 

They hear mine…

 

Today, even my heart is different than yesterday’s,

Is yours?

 

In the night my dreams change me and

I wake up in a new world.

 

It happens every morning,

But it’s never the same.

 

The world’s consistency is but an illusion.

 

The ferns leaning against my porch screens are a little taller than they were before.

 

Overnight, more geranium buds have opened and

The garden has drunk up all the water I gave to it yesterday.

 

Everything has changed

Yet appears the same.

The illusion is well practiced and convincing,

 

Or is it?

 

After all, the Robin never fails to sing at dawn.

 

 

Rain

The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as it

Falls in sheets, slides down the roof and over its edge in a curtain of water.

Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and

Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.

The sky is lower on rainy days and

Holds me close to the ground.

Forest sounds are muted and muffled and

Light is  defused into grayness.

It is not a sad and depressing grayness,

But a soothing and peaceful shade,

Full of the necessity of remembered sorrows and joys.

I love a  rainy day that is soft and dark.  It begs me to stop, rest, and be mindful of my surroundings and loves.

It reminds me to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows

Into a place of inner stillness,

And there remain, content to just be and

Accept what is.

Always Alone

I’m lying in a hammock, sideways,

Staring at the canopy of trees above my head.

Their branches interlaced like the fingers of lovers in an act of passion.

The trees sway with agentle breeze,

Each variety with its distinct leaf waiving and dancing to its own tune.

Above and beyond the boughs lies a deep blue sky, dotted with plumes of soft whiteness

Each drifting and changing with every second, never the same from moment to moment.

I am watching this scene as the sunlight slowly turns to dusk.

The sun-powered breezes fade and the forest yawns and folds in on itself and sleeps.

I should do the same

But the magic of the transformation of day into night fixes me to this spot.

All form is erased, sky and forest become one, stars twinkle above and fireflies twinkle below as reflections of one another like sky in water.

Buzzing insects sounds are silenced as

A different cast of characters takes on the night shift.

An owl awakens and his hoots ec between the sleeping trees.

I hear the fox’s footsteps through the dry leaves and

Goosebumps cover my neck at the sound of his bark.

Less vocal creatures slink and stalk through the forest night

Taking their turn at life.

And me, I don’t fit.

I exist equally in both worlds but am not a participant in either and

Therein lies my sorrow.

I am only the watcher,

Always alone.