In an Early spring meadow
Tree skeletons stand stark,
Silhouetted in the fog.
The meadow’s undulating waves of grass,
Appear and disappear in the mist.
A familiar landscape,
Changed only by drops of dew.
Tag: seasons
A Lesson in Truth
Peace Trees, their soft edged shadows grow with the season
Becoming silhouettes that blend together in summer’s lushness.
They grow and soak up the sun, turn it to life and
Feed themselves and my soul with green.
Peaceful trees; a lesson in truth.
Winter Loneliness
Stars swirl in a midnight sky as
The forest tiptoes through darkness,
Aware only of itself.
The owls have returned.
Their voices in chorus give life to the darkness.
A fox barks back to them in welcome,
His winter loneliness forgotten.
(4/7/16)
Silent April Snow
The early spring silent snow
Fits my mood.
It is a white dusting of truth
Accentuating every little branch and twig,
Making every little lie all the more obvious.
The silence into which the April snow is falling
Seeps through my eyes and into my heart
As if to smother and quiet its
Telltale beats.
It comes as blessing and a curse by
Prolonging the inevitable with maybe that one last chance.
But I know the sun will come out and
It will all be just a memory …
Once again.
Storm Dance
| 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.
(2/23/17)
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Wind-Song
It is almost gone now,
Sadly diminished.
Only the hard and tough oaks
Remain to carry the song.
They sway less and less as
There is not much left to catch the wind.
But the wind still blows, it comes in waves and churns the ocean of trees.
One tree after another reacts to the wind’s hand, its push, its power.
Some bed in a flurry of dancing of limbs,
Some hold their ground, refusing to bend to the will of the wind.
The wildness of the wind comes in stages,
Craziest at the tree tops,
More subtle midway down with only a modicum of movement
Just feet above the ground.
I’ve often wondered if their roots feel the pull and tug of the wind.
Are they dying to let go of the earth and fly away?
And when the leaves have all fallen, the wind’s song fades completely,
Losing its soft voice.
The summer’s soft song is replaced by the harsh clacking of naked branches and
The howling of frozen limbs in the dead of winter’s endless nights.
I hate to see the leaf song go,
I will miss is warmth and rustling.
But I will hold its song within,
Deep within, and sing it to myself in the dark time to come
When all in solemn stillness sleeps.
November Silence
The color outside my bedroom window is gone.
Yet evergreens stay to remind me of life’s continuance, always existing just below the surface.
The trees are stark silhouettes of gray,
Each branch and twig evident and asleep.
There is a new silence in the wood.
It is a soft, comforting, sleeping silence.
A hush of reverence,
A soothing of soul.
Awareness hangs liked smoke among
The naked branches.
It is an awareness of belonging, of no doubts,
Of confidence in the being and faith in the belonging.
And so they stand, the trees, in winter’s silence,
In perfect harmony with their place and mine.
Each a witness to the other and
Both a witness to the One.
Harvest
Pumpkins roasting in the oven,
Canning jars full of summer bounty drying on the counter.
Carrots and beets are waiting in the cottage garden, waiting to be pulled and washed,
Blanched and put to rest in the freezer.
Summer’s tender fruits have come and gone.
Only the hardy and hardest of all remain.
The winter squash takes the place of its summer
Thin skinned cousins.
Hard beets, potatoes, and turnips
Wait to be dug and stored in the cellar.
Apples shine on the trees, enticing us to climb and gather.
Their red faces sparkle in the sun, begging to be picked and boxed.
So yet again, we preserve the jewels of summer to be cherished in the dead of winter,
They remind us of the taste of summer, when gardens are asleep and dreaming.
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.
Summer Sunday Evenings
There comes a soft sadness with
Summer Sunday evenings.
A time of day that remains empty unless full,
Lonely unless shared.
One week’s ending is
Another’s beginning.
Just as his absence is just another ending
And his staying away just another beginning.
My lonely heart aches and
Forgotten tears fall in silence as
My memories of him are left to collect dust in the corner,
Their silence speaking volumes.
No one else cares,
No one else remembers, and still,
The soft summer sadness of Sunday afternoon silence
Continues without end.
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