This fog filled morning
the bright lights of our family room
illuminate the whale.
Leaping with joy, he flies
Up
Up
Up
he flies
beyond the froth,
far above the hills.
Eyes open wide,
he smiles,
joyous,
wondering,
celebrating the glory of being alive,
his great flippers just like wings
as he propels
himself toward the sky,
and then, married to gravity, falls
to the depths of the sea
with sheer abandon,
announcing his place in the world.
“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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