Posted on

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”

Posted on

Spring


11745316_402395659959922_8109062695143299557_n

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.

Posted on

Little Contentments


american_robin_8It 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.

 

Posted on

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

Posted on

Barking. Remembering.


December 11, 1937 – March 26, 2016
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.

 

Posted on

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/