The Stones Will Remember

Evening shadows shift

Through broken windows.

 

Chimney bricks slide down the roof

Puddleing under the lilac bush.

 

Weeds spread into the driveway

Reclaiming it for themselves.

 

When was this house built?

Was it ever new?

 

The yard and doorframes bear witness

To the families who grew here.

 

Long forgotten toys and broken swings

Hide beneath the matted field grass.

 

A broken clothesline flaps in the gray autumn breeze and

Sprung clothespins mold and rot into the ground beneath the broken posts.

 

Feral cats are now the only life that calls this old farm home,

And birdsong still fills the rafters of the barn.

 

The barn that once held livestock

Sits shifted on its foundation,

 

Listing and leaning to the south,

Away from winter’s fierce winds.

 

The stately oak gracing the front yard is rotten and broken,

Its fingers through the house roof.

 

Where did they go, the people

Who called this place home?

 

When the last one left,

Why didn’t they clean out the house?

 

Why not take the toys?

Close the windows? Lock the doors?

 

Did they not know they were

Never coming back?

 

The windmill out back has long ago

Crashed into the apple orchard,

 

Breaking in to pieces as it fell

and crushing the trees it had stood watch over all these years.

 

But in man’s absence

The apple trees continue to produce.

 

The lilac bushes flower every spring in spite of

Not being “cared for” in over 40 years.

 

The forest is slowing creeping back in to fill the void

Left when the field was abandoned.

 

All that remains of the people who once called this spot of land home

Is the family graveyard,

 

Where stones are carved with love and care,

Preserving for all time the names and dates of those whose lives began and ended here.

 

But the lilacs don’t care about being preserved,

The Oak is beyond pride and the buildings are slowly returning to the soil,

 

Just like the bodies beneath the stones.

Another 40 years and the stones will be all that remains.

 

They will be all that is left to tell the story

Of a time gone by.

 

The story of a house built to last a lifetime, a barn crafted with pride,

The story of generations of a family who lived, worked and died on this land.

 

A story only the stones will remember.

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.    

Just Look

I saw the stars last night,

Didn’t even have to get out of bed.

They were so bright in the cold, dense,winter air

That they shown right through my lacy bedroom curtains.

I saw it as a reminder of what is still there and always will be,

And to find it yet again,

We just have to look through the holes one more time.

The Day I Died

 

It’s hard to remember all the details of the day I died.

It’s mostly just a blur now.

Guess it really doesn’t matter,

But I think it was a Thursday…

A cold and cloudy late fall Thursday afternoon,

Windy and gray.

Cold, strong winds buffeted my little house while 

Trees danced together above the skylight.

The wood stove was blazing across the room.

Its smoke blew by the windows on gusts of northern winds.

Fall’s blazing colors had already faded to the browns and grays of late November and gangs of dry leaves blew across the yard gathering in wood’s hollows and house corners.

No song birds were left behind, the only sound a murder of crows that had gathered on the edge of the clearing, watching, waiting … did they know?

My afternoon tea was steaming on the table beside me as evening shadows grew longer preparing to swallow my cottage in darkness.  Night was coming on earlier and earlier as late autumn made its way closer to winter.

I had gotten up to put another log on the fire and then rearranged myself back in my fireside chair, ready to read, when it began …

At first it was just a familiar sleepy feeling but as the feeling deepened, I realized something was Different; the slowing was within me, deep within, not of this time or place.

The trees continued their dance but now in slow motion silence. 

The crackling of the stove became faint and far away.

What my eyes took in no longer mattered,

And feeling my heart beat stop had no effect on me.

My breath had slowed to a stuttering sign as I felt the me inside

Float to the surface and leave this plain of existence.

I passed into another realm,

The veil between the worlds having been lifted for my entrance.

I cannot accurately explain what I saw and felt as

It is not of this world or this mind set to understand but

They were all there, the “they” I wanted and needed.

My being became wrapped in love and acceptance, a total eternal acceptance.

All pretenses were stripped away and time ceased to exist.

I never wanted to leave and rejoiced in the knowing that I would never have to as

All endings had been left behind.

It’s all still just a blur,

Guess it really doesn’t matter

But I think it was a Thursday…

In Shared Seclusion

 

 

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.

Sweet, Sweet September

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.

Blessing of the Saco River

River Blessing, June 20, 2016

 

The continuance of life

The renewal of its essence.

 

From sea to sky

From sky to mountain

From mountain to river

And from river back to the sea,

A continuous loop in the process of eternity.

 

Water is the giver and sustainer of life, it is the softness of gentle drops on sweet summer leaves,

and the raging fury and unstoppable force of a flood.

 

It represents a manifestation of life, a confluence of the forces of nature; a mystery with its truth below the surface. It flows where the land allows it to and always returns to its source, as do we.

 

As the bearer of water and life, we honor its place in the circle of truth, and pay tribute to its never ending gifts.

We gather here together to give thanks for its beauty and the peace it brings to our souls and hearts with our gifts of the earth and samples of the bounty its sweet water brings.

(My ladies and I ended our annual blessing ceremony by dropping flowers and herbs into the Saco River.  It was a lovey way to spend a summer late afternoon in the company of the setting sun and full solstice moon).

Summer Solstice/Full Moon 6-20-16

Longest day and shortest time of darkness.  Magic in the moon light and peace in the secret of its knowing.

A secret to share with everyone but for now, only known by those among us of like mind, of those awake enough to behold the truth because it is a truth without words, a knowing in the soul, a connection to all there is but with no attachments.

A trust in the cycles of life, the rhythm of nature, the dependability of the cycles that Divine Mother brings.  She has laid in waiting, has been patient with our neglect but now it is her time, a time of new awareness, a time of a rebirth of the mother knowledge, a time to rejoice in her beauty and truth.

In this day of less darkness, let us see the meaning in the seasons, let us feel the vibration of Mother’s truth, let us believe in her promise in the light of the moon that she will never leave us in darkness and let us honor her in our hearts and share her love and truth with one another to become for all time sisters/brothers and lovers of the beauty of her truth and of the right of all beings to exist in the bliss of the conscious life.

Let us make a vow, a promise to her this evening of shortened darkness, to be her children and partners in the process of waking the unconscious to an appreciation of Mother and of each other and to make this world the place she has always dreamed of.

Join me in drying her tears with our hearts in honor of all she unselfishly and joyfully gives of herself.  The blessing of day light and moon shine, of love, death and rebirth, a never ending cycle, dependable in its truth and continuance, a chain never broken, a perpetual loop of manifestation of the unmanifested through and because of our consciousness.

With Mother to guide us and hold us in her heart of compassion, we cannot fail and can assist her in bringing forth a new earth, one of compassion, truth, beauty and peace for all beings and all time.  This is the promises in the moonlight and star shine of this magical evening.

Please Join me in silent meditation and feel the message of the bells and gong as we offer our gifts of the sweetness of life to our sister the river and our mother the earth, a taste of the fruits river’s gift of water brings us and a tribute and thanks to our Divine Mother for the beauty and flavor she adds to our lives.

After The Rain

The joy of a muddy puddle after a rain and

Spider webs stretched out on the grass waiting to dry.

 

Rain makes tree trunks darker on west facing sides with

Moss growing toward the north.

 

Forest fallen leaves flattened by winter’s snows awaken after the spring rain and

Crisp morning air envelopes the crystal blue sky of a new cloudless day.

 

Dawn brings a new world each and every morning, while

Night’s darkness hides the transformation from yesterday to today.

 

The world of this moment is a different world from yesterday’s,

From an hour ago, from a moment ago.

 

It all is in flux, all impermanent but dependable in its trustworthy impermanence and

Therein lays the joy of a muddy puddle after the rain.

 

Dreaming – a poem written by my lovely daughter, Chelsea! Such talent, such a lovely young woman :)

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…