Rest, Lake.

Let your head relax and dip beneath the surface. You hear only the sound of your own breathing and every song of joy ever sung. She is all around you, cradling you in her wake, washing you with her light, and refilling your heart. Your eternity with her is too, too short.

Vessels of Change

Vessels of change
Vessels of change
Things that are normal
will soon seem quite strange.

Come this time tomorrow--
it’s hard to explain--
it will all seem quite different,
you now see what i’m saying.

This is a big one,
a heralded transition,
and those who have missed it
may have failed to listen
to the warnings that sung
from the tops of the trees,
from the depths of the ocean,
from the birds and the bees.

The storm’s come and gone,
and we’ve walked now around.
Walked somber and serious
till our purpose was found.

There will be again joy
and there will be again play.
It’s a shift in the times
and it begins here today.
This is the start
of a glorious rebirth.
A fresh coat of paint
for the children of Earth.

So pray for our people,
our lives and our times.
Pray for our memories,
our hearts and our minds.

And as the sun rises--
let the story be told--
the work’s made a difference;
our lead’s become gold.

May. 31, 2010 \ Photo attribution

Mother teases as the seasons creep.

Mother teases as the seasons creep.
She knows what she wants, and she can’t help but give glimpses
of the fires that bellow below her crusted coverings.

Ragged tufts of green poke between the crusts and cracks.
A bountiful bust of blossoms stands between the stations.

Can the turning of seasons come so closely to the deeps of winter’s despair?

That is not ours to say.
But it is ours to hope.
 
We hope
and hope
and hope some more.

Life waits between the peaks and valleys. Fire strikes at the midpoint, snuffing desolation with its bawdy smolder. Its flames belch dance and song, bread and wine.

It is springtime, and it comes again.

Feb. 2, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Earth: This time around

This life. This time around.
This blue-green gate of experience
is the place from where
our ancestors came and went.
It is our cradle and our casket.

This is the earth we stand upon:
We walk as creatures born of mud and dust.
We walk as creatures born as equals.
We walk in a miasma of existance, unaware of the life in which we tread. Look around!

Earth is.
Earth was.
Earth as will ever be.

We will break our mother's heart again and again
but she will take us back when we come to her.
We love her for it.

Wisdom of the earth is knoweldge incarnate, built of beauty, bone, peat and power.
On Earth, my friend, your virtue is reborn.

Jan. 25, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution

Lady Crow visits and shivers

Smelling of oil and spilled road salt, Lady Crow takes a short rest on the barren tree that grows along the shoreline. She shakes and preens. She puffs and combs her feathers. She looks to the white sky and sighs; it is a cold day and the promise of spring flickers only slightly on the horizon. It will be colder before it is warm again.

With a stretch of her wings she floats away from the winter wind by becoming part of it.

  Pearls of snow flutter down from her perch, their journey a short-lived legacy of her visit. They sparkle as they fall.

Jan. 10, 2010 \ Read it on Scribd \ Photo attribution