Coastal dunes slide and slip into the sea
As the storm rolls on to the north.
Gulls scurry to grab unfortunate crabs washed ashore by the crashing waves.
Seaweed floats and ripples with the waves like grass in the wind and
Salty sea spray coats the disinterested windows of empty houses on the shore.
The tourists have all left for the season
Leaving the ocean and beach to carry on with their lover’s dance
Un-witnessed and unashamed, with freedom and reckless abandon.
A field of brown grass,
A drop of chilly dew,
A morning kissed ripe apple, and
A bursting milkweed pod…
Signs of the change of seasons and an
Elevation of my consciousness.
Summer has ended.
It has shed its past and faded into isness
But it’s an isness that is charged with the now.
At the change of seasons, there is a new definition of me.
One that shifts with the sun angles and holds my spirit in kindness.
It is a newness in me that ebbs and flows with the tides and moon cycles.
That builds on the new life essence that captures my attention
That fills my heart and soul.
An essence of change, of new life, of new beginnings from old endings.
It is a change that envelopes my being and carries me along with it.
A flood of truth and trust, a deluge of emotions and warmth.
My heart misses the summer season but my soul is alive with the contentment of the coming winter.
A sheltered silence in seasonal separateness
But all together just the same…
In shared seclusion.
September’s muted sunshine and billowing clouds
Speak of a change to come, a change already begun.
In soft subtle shifts of afternoon shadows and heavy morning dew laden grass,
Autumn makes its arrival known.
Summer slides sleepily away, the heat having worn her out
As the freshness of fall takes her place.
Meadow grasses turn brown
And Goldenrod losses its shine.
Milkweed pods bust open, trusting their future generations to the wind and
Flocks of geese gather together to finalize their flight plan.
In the subtle softness of September the world is poised for transition.
There is no harshness to September…
The cold biting winds and freezing temperatures
Are saved for November and the first dusting of frost for October.
September exists to give us a gentle push towards winter,
While reminding us from week to week and sometimes day to day of what we will miss
Until spring arrives again and the earth warms, the geese return and
The faith of the milkweeds is fulfilled.
Dreaming
The air is crisp and biting as it travels down into my lungs.
I hear the trees’ bare limbs creak and whine in their icy blankets.
The ground is cold and hard where the grass once tickled my toes.
I savor the brief few minutes of sun that warm my naked face.
I miss the smell of dirt and the sound of rustling leaves…
I miss the sound of heavy booted feet on rocky mountain paths…
I miss the long awaited cool breeze on a hot summer day…
I miss bird song, thunderstorms, and roasting marshmallows on the campfire…
But Spring will come again as it always does,
The sun will shine and the snow will melt,
The ground will soften and grass will grow,
The trees will wake and grow their new leaves,
But for now,
It is silent…
Everything is sleeping…
Waiting….
Wishing…
Dreaming of Spring…
Scarlet tree branches,
Moon light through naked limbs.
Night is silenced by the cold
And damp forest sleeps.
The songbirds have gone,
Their singing missed by the morning.
Crows caw to the shadowed sun as
Darkness increases its grip.
It is all winding down,
Life and love, slowly seeping into the ground.
The cold silences and subdues,
Its victory complete and all sleep.
The wind speaks to me in this dark time.
It’s howling through naked branches
Reminds me of the power, the life force that
Remains when the sun has pulled back its warmth.
The cold is too strong, to deep to penetrate
It is invasive and complete in its capture.
It holds down life,
Forces it underground to wait.
The cold is not evil, but is
A necessary part of the whole.
Without the cold time there would be no spring,
No return of the sun, no song birds to sing.
The cycles must run, the four corners call
And she who dwells in the heart must be heard.
All is right, all is good, all is as it must be
Should be, is and forever will be.
November
From my bedroom window
I watch the woodland change with the seasons.
On the corner of the house, a maple branch hugs the windowsill
Its leaves framing my view of the forest.
How can I explain the secret life of leaves I observe from my window and the
Magical growth that takes place in silence unseen?
I can think of no words to use, so instead I just watch, I watch the breeze
ruffle the leaves and the branches move together in the wind like fans made of feathers.
And then the rain comes and I watch the drops play the
Leaves like keys on a piano.
I am content with my role as watcher and marvel at the strength and skill the trees employ when they interlock their arms to form an impenetrable force of gentle power in silence.
These graceful tree spirits are woven together by the hand of God to create
The framework of the forest.
They surround my home and speak to my soul and
My heart hears their thoughts and hopes,
And I realize and know that they are
Not so different from me.
I understand and accept that we share this planet and are
Children of the One in all our varied forms
All connected,
All equal in the eyes of our creator.
And the peace and stillness of the wood
pervades my soul and feeds my spirit and makes me one with those who stand outside looking in.
Uncommon fair time again
All natural and good
Wholesomeness is its hallmark
Break
I expect so little now
Is it still to much?
Let go, watch me fall apart
Break
The birds are very busy
They sense it is here
Frost on the field this morning
Break
The humming birds are now gone
No one saw them leave
They slipped away in the night
Summer has finished its time
Autumn takes over
Silent leaf fall muffles change
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.
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