Nature’s balance (re-post from 2015)

Purple thunder, speaking sky.

The sound sneaks in to doubting ears.

But soon, unable to be ignored, it rolls in

Splitting the sky,

Singing to my heart

And watering the earth.

As the storm approaches, the lights go out.

The air is still and filled with anticipation.

Birds become silent and

Trees grow heavy.

The rain follows the clouds

And the wind rocks the trees to the sound of the sky.

Heavy air crushes the field and

Rain pummels the garden.

Plants, grass and trees shake in the torrent and rivers run along

The roadside washing away the day’s dust.

The very earth trembles with the power of the storm

As lightening spells its name in the sky.

The black clouds race across the heavens and

Carry the storm on their backs.

But all too soon for me, the western horizon brightens, the

Energy is spent, the storm subdued.

Sunrays break through the darkness and

The earth sparkles and shines in its fresh – washed brilliance.

The storm has run its course,

Released its tension and fulfilled its purpose.

The birds resume their song, the brook runs full,

The garden is watered and the earth refreshed.

The thunder returns to silence and

Nature’s balance is restored.

 

 

Wind

Stunted trees

Bend and cower from the wind.

Its Winter howling is incessant.

Its cold all pervasive.

The mountain side Bearberry brambles

Grip tightly to the glacier scarred rocks for safety as the wind

Flows in rivers of the sky

From the White Mountains to the sea.

It feels its way with outstretched arms

Solid and real, over a

Path that is well worn and familiar into the valleys

And river beds along the way.

The power of the wind pushes the sound of thunder ahead of it

And Carries the storm clouds on its back.

It washes over the landscape

In partnership with the trees.

It is a force that can move them to dance,

Shake them to their roots, and love them with its allover touch.

Mountains and trees diminish the wind.

They sap its strength with their reluctance to let it go.

They want to hold on, to experience its freedom and lightness

They yearn for a chance to throw off their earthly chains and soar above the land.

But in the end, at the last, the sea is the master leaving

The wind no choice but to rush into its out-stretched arms, to be consumed by the waves,

To become one with the spray, white with its foam,

And in the crashing of the wind powered waves on the shore,

Release its energy back into the realm from which it came,

Completely the cycle once again.

 

The Soul of the Storm

 

3:30 am February Thunder

 

What is it that speaks to me through thunder?

Why does it hold such fascination?

 

Why does it bring from and to me such joy?

It is just a sound, a physical reaction to the heat of lightening, a compression and release of air pressure, That is all it is, but is it? What more does it represent to me?

 

It is nature, it is God speaking to me, it awakens in me a sense of personal connection, me to God, me to nature’s voice, me to the divine Mother Earth.

 

Lighten is the spark, the bright flash of Satori,

But thunder is the voice, the depth of feeling, the depth of God’s soul in sound.

 

Thunder emanates from the extremeness and storminess of the soul.  It is the release of charge, not the lamenting of loss but a celebration of depth.

 

The sound echoes between the hills and shakes the ground.  It cracks and air and then rolls in waves of intensity lower and lower until its vibrations shake the very core of the earth and of my being.

 

It touches me in a very primal way, a way before time, a way before and above thought, a way that has no need for thought or time.

 

I feel as a tree must feel in a storm.  I picture how it must be in my head…

 

Standing in the night, warm summer air flowing through my branches, gentle purposful breezes stirring my leaves and off in the distance the brief brilliant flashes of lighting appear.  Their light, reflecting over the towering cloud tops,  announces the storms approach.  I know what this means and I await its arrival with mixed emotions.

 

The breezes start to stiffen, my braches and leaves are tossed and startled.  My trunk is strong but so is the wind and I am fearful.  As the storm approaches, the very darkness and emotion of the air is changed.  It becomes charged with anticipation, with expectations and apprehension.

 

The rain arrives first in wind carried drops, miles ahead of the storm.  My leaves dance to the rhythm of these gentle drops while waiting for the violence of the curtains of water that will accompany the storm.

 

As the storm gains ground and draws closer, I feel it rather than hear it.  It is a deep feeling that travels through the ground and vibrates and shakes my roots.

 

Then it begins to crackle overhead and toss my limbs like whispers of silk.  My leaves are turned upside-down by the wind and my storm facing bark is soaked by streams of rain.

 

The sky lowers and pressed heavily on my crown.  Forest creatures take refuge in the shelter of my branches where I hold them tight against the onslaught of power and turbulence from the storm.

 

The storm roils through my forest, soaking the soil and bringing energy and life to the earth.  Its violence is only its great need to communicate its passion for life, and then it begins to fade…

 

It moves off to the east, dragging its lightening with it.  The thunder fades quickly with distance rolling back into the silence from which it was born and the forest night resumes its rest as if nothing had happened.

 

 

As the storm passes I return to me and to my soft, warm, dry bed and dream of being a tree as the trees watch me though the open window.

 

They understand better than I do our connection, me to them, them to me and all of us to the soul of the storm.

The Courage of Autumn

Swift summer snuck in,

Greening up from the edges, shading the forest floor.

It came complete with lovely summer evenings

Where warm breezes filled the night,

And a blanket of starts twinkled in the

Dark humid haze.
The August thunder filled my soul

With its power and its wildness renewed me.

My garden produced produce from the earth

Feeding my soul as richly as it fed my body.

This summer was a season of energy and rapid growth.

There was no time to waste, “bloom now, don’t be afraid” was its message.

But now, without warning, the days begin to shorten,

The afternoon shadows grow longer.

Late night mists form as the heart of summer

Makes its escape back to the sky from where it came.

The golden sunglow fades from my skin as it

Has from the fields.

A summer season of riotous beginnings looses its energy and

Fades into the arms of autumn.

As the seasons change, so must I.

I need to return to the safety and warmth of my home and

Gather my growings to feed my body as I gather my loves

To sustain my soul through the cold, dark time to come.

Autumn is the time to return to what was, to what came before

Summer’s brief and beautiful interruption.

Fearlessly and with a final burst of thanks in colors of red and gold,

The earth has gently shed its past with its leaves.

If only I could shed mine with such courage and beauty.