I sit quietly, mesmerized
by the path of a morning breeze
travelling from the peak
of a tall oak, downward
until each branch, each leaf
engaged in childlike song.
The entire tree danced, as if
calling me to join in
until the breeze moved on
to the loblolly across the fence.
I watch as the breeze
continues conducting.
Whole sections of the loblolly
swaying and swirling in grand gestures
like a gentle giant preparing
to pick a tiny flower.
The same breeze spoke
through both trees.
Responses varied due to
their individual states of being.
Results proved equally persuasive.
Songs my soul needed to hear.
Lessons my heart aches to understand.
Tag: nature
Fingerprints
From our very first reach,
we leave lasting imprints
Tiny fingers, tiny toes
unaware of the enduring
impact engraved on
all who hold us close
Choice eventually becomes
part of the equation-
Deciding if what we leave behind
is positive, helpful, encouraging,
or cynical, hurtful, disheartening
Each imprint is personal
an identifying set of
lines and ridges
creating a pattern-
Sacred responsibility
held in every touch
I saw such a fingerprint
in the afternoon clouds-
Lines and ridges
creating a pattern
belonging to the one
who holds the sky
Simply Sunday
Pulseline
Sometimes, relief for
anxious hearts is held
in surprising places
Have you ever sat
in a chair beside
the hospital bed of
someone you love?
The steady beep
of a heart monitor
mapping the tempo
of each precious breath
The gentle curves
of a stable pulse line
repeated over and over
reporting all is well
Peace surfaces alongside fear
I have experienced
this peace at other
times, in other places
A morning row of clouds,
their gentle undulation
performing a steady beat
underneath the warmth
of a brilliant sunrise
A skyline of treetops
grown together through
storms, their silhouette
a uniform motif of peace
painted across the horizon
Sometimes, relief for
anxious hearts is held
in surprising places
Peace surfaces alongside fear
Birds
I picture them perched
along electric wires
carefully watching
as we pass by.
I wonder what they think of us?
Are their conversations more
logical than ours? Friendlier?
They sing such sweet melodies.
Yes, they also squawk
and screech, but for a
purpose-imminent danger
or a particular need.
I can hear them now
calling each other
back and forth across
the yard, tree to tree.
Hey there! Will you fly over for a visit?
Sure! Let me finish feeding the babies.
I gathered some extra twigs to bring you!
Thank you! See you soon!
Perhaps we could learn
from the birds if we
intentionally listen
and quietly observe.
Perhaps we could learn
from each other
the exact same way…
Forward
Clouds could not contain
its brightness-squinting
I looked only long enough
to snap two photographs
Side by side, the difference
was slow to appear, slight
adjustment of time, seconds,
but a revelation for eternity
Closer to the light than
I could ever hope to be
flying across the sky
wings spread wide and free
Light held in clouds
yet, bright enough
to carry him forward
into the hope of his future
Unfolding
Logic would say today is gray
Tell me to move on
I take a second look, then a third
Subtle color variations appear
Lines of demarcation between
Heaven and Earth seem to ripple
within the rhythm of the wind
I keep looking until a tiny
semblance of light appears
from behind wispy layers
It doesn’t last long
Only a few seconds and a smile
Darkness covers the faded colors
Now, the sky is gray
Rain begins to fall
I smile again, grateful for those
subtle variations gracing
the morning sky-Preparing me
for the slow unfolding of today
Simply Sunday
Mysteries
A beginning so strange,
so pure and innocent.
A sweet baby
lying on its back
feet up in the air
a perfect button nose
evident in its profile-
A picture that changes
so quickly, it is like
a stretched-out cloud
that holds its shape
only until the next
breeze blows by.
Perhaps it was
a cloud I saw,
and not a baby.
Both are strange,
pure, and innocent.
And if a cloud can remind me
of a precious baby, well,
Therein lies another mystery.
Spacious
Sometimes my brain
feels overcrowded.
Like, there’s not enough space
for all my thoughts to process.
Then one word emerges
from the muck.
Spaciousness.
My busy thoughts pause-
It does exist.
Spaciousness.
Between the time you were born
and the person you’ve become.
Between the first dark cloud
of a storm and the last drop of rain.
Between each breath I take,
as I slow down to watch
clouds gracefully float past.
Simply Sunday
Have you ever noticed
how certain clouds
appear so put together?
Smooth and round,
every particle in place.
Gleaming against their
bright, blue background.
Gliding gracefully
through the day.
And then there are the others.
Honestly, I think they
outnumber the first.
Frazzled, edges a little rough.
Looks like they survived
a tornado or hurricane.
Typically draws a second look.
Color is the same, as is
their current backdrop.
Particles are the same, only shifted.
Perhaps they need a
gentle breeze, accompanied
by a genuine smile.
That is, if clouds
respond to smiles.
A Walk
Last week, I took a walk.
Everyone around me
was running.
In this instance, the results
would be the same.
I suppose that’s what
happens when you get
caught, unprepared,
in a rainstorm.
The thing is, I knew
the rain was approaching.
I knew there was no umbrella
hiding in my backseat.
And still, I chose to
ignore the warning.
Not always a wise choice,
but this time it was warranted.
Last week, I took a walk.
Drenched from head
to toe, I laughed.
My soul felt lighter.
Then the rain stopped.
Piano Girl 