I.
Across the still lake
Cloud Eagle swoops ‘neath snow trees.
Forest and falls call.
II.
Branches shape a heart,
frame the lake, the trees, the sky,
singing, “all is well.”
III.
A heart to look through
across the lake. A new view:
trees and clouds and snow.
Blessing:
May our day
of slow sauntering
amidst the evergreens,
the Fir, the Spruce
soften
into smoothness
my heart.
“Pick up your pen and write,” she says, that wise and ancient Voice: the devoted Muse, speaking to me in the grey morning, white ball of sun in the sky, in the water, below. Below, where the surface conversation has long since disappeared, I ask a private question: “Of what shall I write?” “Anything you hear in the deep well of your own heart.” “Write about the loon mourning the days away. Write about the turtle who belongs in the pond among the lilies. Write about a world of wonders. Write about me, who will always encourage you to find…
Hello, Great Blue! You, who walk so stealthily, so faithfully, so gracefully, so quietly, on your long, lanky, legs, looking, waiting for your first, tasty morsel from the sea, yellowing sea. Good morning, Great Blue, Long Necked Warrior of the Morning birds, you, who work so attentively alertly, keen for your morning fish. looking outwards toward the rising, brightening, sun. Do you watch for the sun to rise? Are you single pointedly moving towards the exact place where the fish meet your beak? This is the way I want to awaken each day, saying hello to the wild world before…
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