Tag: Nature

ALL Saints

Fallen leaves carpet my path.
Caution, sharp curves ahead.
Tree limbs lock bare arms;
Distant ridges rise in view.
Blessed be the pause.

Placing my hands on
Sun-warmed outcropping,
I take in the strength  
Of ancient mountains 
Eroded over time. 
Blessed be the wise.

At the peak of an arduous climb
I lean against the rugged bark 
of an old growth tree, its
knotted wounds long healed.
Blessed be time.

Standing under an arch 
of Coniferous Evergreens,
I sight the late-blooming ferns,
Signs, promises, Presence. 
Winds shush the moment,
Blessed be peace.

Line in the Sand

Birthed in the waters of the Atlantic,
like my mother and grandmother
before me; a girl child, wet braids,
skirted bathing suit,
ankle deep in foaming surf,
discovering the pull
of the undertow before
taking that first dive.
Where did you discover freedom?

Observe me glide deeper
into the ocean,
treading waters,
waiting for the crest
of a perfect wave,
the rush to rise up,
plunge deep, ride to shore,
arms outstretched,
self emerging triumphant,
baptized again with the spirit of joy.
Where did you learn to read
the waves that wash over your life?

Now imagine teen youth,
stepping from familiar tidal
waters, a cooling breeze
brushing my body.
I chill when I recall
machines shoveling landmass
into an end-of-beach channel,
plans to connect two islands.
Dunes and sea oats vanished,
no more games of hide and seek,
no sea creatures playing
around my feet at low tide;
parcels of my paradise
marked “no trespassing”.
Where did you first discover
a line drawn in the sand?


Summer Stalks

My daddy did not take
summer vacations,
Neither did our family.
He was a hard working man. 
Going to visit relations
however, was an altogether
right thing to do.

I was twelve when our family, 
packed arm-to-arm
in our blue and cream 
‘54 Desoto, traveled
back mountain roads.
looking for Daddy’s home place. 
He was a jokester,
a trickster, a ghostly 
storyteller who never
stopped working.

The closer we got to
Great Aunt Libby’s place 
the more carefree he became.
 Suddenly our car 
veered to the shoulder 
of a narrow country road.

Late July corn grew 
high on both sides
of the hot pavement,
fields with tall tassled stalks
as far as I could see,
”Just look, here” he said.
”Fresh corn for the pickin’. 
Nobody is going to 
miss a few of these 
good-looking ears.”
 
Two steps into carefully planted rows,
a man appears with a shotgun. 
Daddy, all smiles and grins, 
his firm hand extended 
for a neighborly shake, 
says “Well hi there. 
I am out looking at these 
fields of corn, mighty tempting 
for tonight’s dinner.
Would you sell us a bushel?”  

Daddy stood so proud, 
tossing ears of corn 
into the trunk of the car. 
Still grinning. Did I tell you 
Daddy was a salesman? 
He liked a good deal.

Green leaves wrapped
around tawny husks,
waiting to be shucked.
Most days are so ordinary.
Shedding the outside wrapping, 
fingering strands of silken threads,
I pull dreams from rows 
of juicy kernels, savoring sweet 
tasting memories
of a golden summer day.

Mind Clutter

Unspoken thoughts
Cloud my mind,
Not the Hosanna
Glory-be-to-God kind
of words that make
my heart sing -
burdenson words,
fear, failure, if only
or need to.
I hold shadows
up to the light,
and recall the way
I wish it had been,
the pain of impossible 
past or unlived future.
I do not store up
hurt of anger,
but the times 
I “should have”
collect like stones.
When the weight
becomes burdensome
I breathe deep,
stretch my taut body,
murmur a mantra,
note what waves
creation stirs-
bird song, 
dance of trees,
flowering flashes of color,
reminders of  
 divine presence.
I scatter my thoughts
with paper and pen,
and then give thanks.



Solace

Pull a cap tight over your curls,
step outside and face the day’s
persistent winds.
Pace off pain and weariness;
prepare for an uphill climb.
You will need to pause
where the sidewalk ends;
catch your breath,

Wait. Change of direction.
Turn the corner on doubt;  
Follow the perimeter of the first
open field until you arrive
at the walnut grove.
Mary of the Woods awaits.
A lost ball at the foot
of her weathered statue;
rusted wind chimes
fallen from a nearby limb
make no sound.

Wonder Walk

Praise to you
Chilling Winds,
Gentle Rains,
Seasonal Sigh.

Earth’s scent of 
Crushed leaves
Trees preparing
For Time of rest.

Dressy orange,
Shimmering golds,
Red Maples
Making final bows.

Clouds gather,
Sun shuttered
Bare limbs 
Stretched in relief.

Two Hawks
Share the watch,
Careful to catch
Whatever moves.

Praise to you
Mountain glories,
Harvest hands,
Nature’s way.


Photo by Terri Cooper

First Sightings

A squirrel leaves me a walnut
sheathed in green velvet,
then leaps and weaves away
to sort and bury his acorns.

Acrobatic crows hang
on bottom limbs
of kousa dogwoods,
devouring red berries

Just as September returns
sycamores on lakeside avenue
create an arch of golden yellow,
a royal welcome.

Burnished red on dogwoods,
yellow carpets of walnut leaves,
coneflower seeds, drying fuchsia,
wilting lilac tree, caterpillars,

I feel a lift in the cool breeze;
sigh as shadows lengthen;

What return shall I make?

Silence

sun slipping
through forest green,
creek sliding
over ancient stones,
cicadas clicking
in mid-afternoon,
tree frogs singing
as day falls
into darkness;

flickering flames
of campfire,
hum of human voices
settling in for the night,
full August moon
moving through treetops..

Silence infuses my soul
without a single word.

Montreat