spring

March 10, 2017May 31, 2017

That Time of Year

The weather kicks sideways this time of year. It’s not always as bad as the year we got 39 inches of snow in one night in March and were snowed in for three days, but there’s always something.

It was warm as a sweet late May in the mountains three days ago, the time the redbuds and mountain laurel are in bloom, and sometimes dogwoods. But now we’re just grumping about it, siting under four inches of fluffy snow. It looks pretty resting soft on trees turning the world a shining, heavenly white in the morning sun, but it isn’t really welcome. Continue reading “That Time of Year”

February 14, 2017September 23, 2020

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Put your ear to the air.

Tune your senses to the long rhythms…

The sun is daily higher,

It knocks harder on grave’s door:

Beneath in the icy ground,

Life warms from near death

Shudders and swells and pushes against

The things that would keep it cold:

Listen….

Tune your senses to the long rhythms,

Close your eyes and see.

Billions of trillions of millions of tiny,

urgent things stir, move,

Grow from nothing to everything.

The shoving and shifting and yearning

Makes a soundless roar we feel through our feet.

The Earth…. She stretches and yawns.

June 25, 2016May 13, 2017

Little Contentments

american_robin_8 It is an hour after sunrise, the world
still damp from an overnight rain.

A cold front moved through
around midnight,

The air, now washed and
optimistic with good ions,

Flows down from the
mountain over there, cool and dry.

The maple leaves flutter
and let me know it’s coming.

One of the robin chicks that
hatched three weeks ago in the lilac

Hunts for bugs under the ferns,
stops and aims a bright eye at me.

We say hello, in our way. He registers
me as someone he knows.

I sip my coffee, nod,
Wishing him silent luck with the hunt.

June 6, 2016June 6, 2016

Fairytales gone bad

I’m late, but I’ll make up for it. This is some wondrous writing.

June 6, 2016June 10, 2016

When My Heart is Dry

It rained in the mountains last night.
The forest came alive, from the laurels and ferns
To the tops of oaks and maples 60 feet above.
And through it all, the whispering chatter of the stream,
Full of itself, full of energy, falls endlessly over
mossy rocks on its long journey to the sea.

You can feel the eagerness of everything, sense the tree
Roots grabbing harder, drinking deep, their tops waving the news in the wind.
Sunlight finds its way down through gaps
And flares on dancing leaves as it glints, sings silently
Of the joy of life reborn, of thirst quenched, of balance restored.

Seven kinds of birds sound their challenges,
Race through the canopy harvesting food
For pinfeathered chicks urgently waiting in shadows.
I come here when my heart is dry, to feel the moment.
I come here after the rain to sink my roots in, too,
And soak up the voices of the Earth, of the birds, of the sun and wind singing.
Earth
Mountain

May 12, 2016May 12, 2016

Barking. Remembering.

Jim Harrison December 11, 1937 – March 26, 2016

“Barking”

by Jim Harrison
The moon comes up.
The moon goes down.
This is to inform you
that I didn’t die young.
Age swept past me
but I caught up.
Spring has begun here and each day
brings new birds up from Mexico.
Yesterday I got a call from the outside
world but I said no in thunder.
I was a dog on a short chain
and now there’s no chain.

May 4, 2016May 7, 2016

Comes A Wet Dawn

Spring-Peeper-by-GollyGforce-on-flickr

Spring rain in the night

First light caresses droplets

Dry soul inhales peace.

March 25, 2016

Cliffdiving

Then I heard two notes like a piano one pink the other light blue when I pushed off the ledge suspended mid-air that feeling of falling for what felt like forever in a moment plunging […]

https://consciousnesscreatesreality.wordpress.com/2016/03/22/cliffdiving/