song of shilshole

autumn leaves swirl 'round my feet while the crows squawk, 'how now!?' rain looms in the sky, perfectly perched in the silver and gray hiding in the beard of the winter man who watches over the summer's smile summer's souvenirs dance from cottonwoods and maple trees little love notes dangling in the shorter days and shivering in the longer nights the empty sea, the fog, and sanctuary kiss the sky with its blue lips wet with love and loss tears collected from sky and souls from boatman's wives, children's sighs and wild heron's cries and in the distance... a swirl of smoke a wood fire stove a kettle whistling disturbing a sleeply cat curled in comfort by the old man's boots the smell of pipe tobacco and black currant tea a open volume of Whitman singing the songs of self and longevity shadows flickering from a candle near its end skipping and snickering at the line between death and born again the wind sweeps in and one by one the drops make wake on the waters calm opaque seabirds fly, swoop and hide in the tiptop tuffs of the arbutus cooing and cawing at the cold a train in the distance makes sound as it rounds the seaside mountain town and my footprints can be found along the shilshole smile. 13 oct 2009 -fae a moment from my walk...

autumn is whispering...

the great northern sky is blanketed in clouds the sun is sleeping in curled up with the moon. the birds are quietly stirring chirping, conversing with autumn's whisperings the fire is lit, it dances a slight kiss of rain advances the cotton woods and maple trees begin to slightly blush from the courtings of the wild harvest goddess's golden touch all with autumn's whisperings and the wind it swishes and swirls the cedars and firs their laughter unfurls and i stand with my palms to the sky as i say my soft goodbye to the summer's fair face and its full warm embrace as i listen to autumn's whisperings.

. prakrti .

. prakrti . under a jasmine coloured moon the river dances slow kissing tides/time white lotus awaiting the breath of morn garlands of butterfly wings ascend to the waters calm night sounds stir to day's break beak songs deep indigo slithers soft into blue honey hands reach the expanse of sky as the warm exhales of dawn sigh glistening in new light an apple tree of free thought and wisdom shining and ripe dig in. aim guru-saraswatyai namaha

. sprung .

dirt earthen fingers tangle weave and pull search bit of leaf ancestral roots a lost little lady bug dig clumpy clay slippery sod slimy echos of the slug fiddlehead fold flash fin and fern sprinkle seeds scatter dreams cover closely a lilting lullaby . . . i saw my soul awaken in the sun

spring is coming...

in the forest there is a place
where the moss has blanketed the ground
with a most soft embrace.
this place, this sacred space,
where wind and snow nor blow or know
the coldness..
sprouts a dream!
a tiny green dancing queen
that sings and believes in springs wanderings
unfurls / uncurl (ing)
her leafy soul to catch the winter's daydreams,
each perfect snowflake, on her brow
just to shake them to and fro
to let the winter know...
her power is growing.

may spring find your winter path and inspire you to dance in the sunlight falling through the trees.