January

January's Sun Slips in between trees painting Peaches on the snow

scry

when the call comes . . .

Flux

Today the sky is clear, Three birds brush blue wings against it; Their trills sweep across the mountains. Tomorrows clouds drift around, Wisps carrying sheep and dragons into a field Where they dance in ecstatic motion. Next week a dark gathering, I become the pea under a pile of mattresses Struggling to be free of...

When Great Trees Fall

"When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. When great trees fall in forests, small things recoil into silence, their senses eroded beyond fear. When great souls die, the air around us becomes light, rare, sterile. We breathe, briefly. Our eyes, briefly,...

Glory Days

Glorious goldenrod rises Filling the bed where Asparagus speared through the ground In spring On other cool mornings

Scintillating

“Every flower holds the whole mystery in its short cycle, and in the garden we are never far away from death, the fertilizing, good, creative death.” ~May Sarton

Awakening

Go now, gather the threads of hatred, prejudice, and oppression then cut them loose, Empty their remains into the gaping maw of the ocean, Over the earth as waves rise up together Resisting the touch of demons who lure the eyes toward blindness, who lull toward slumber Go now, be the voice of righteous opposition...

Say It

"Go and lay down on the dark Earth with your face to the ground and say it Over and over Black Lives Matter, until the Roots drink your voice and spread truth to the core then Get up and live your words in your Everyday life of freedom, maybe feel survival guilt, but Feel it...

Mushroom Magic

Do you remember when you first saw them Growing high up in the hemlocks, Bulging off the sides out of reach And you climbed, Scraping knees and elbows, While they kept moving further away an arm’s length at a time Until you came back down to ground With a skirt full of holes. Then a...

Woodpecker

The woodpecker way, Needle nosing to uncover what’s hidden, Not for the sake of idle nosy-ness But to get through layers Where necessary nourishment lives, One feeding the other, In the movement a transference Of information, Though let’s call them spores or a fungal frolic Dancing to a drilling drum beat The woodpecker way.