Yesterday was filled with awe.
Even clinging to the hope of one more day,
they knew their destiny was to be a soft, damp blanket
cushioning the blow of footfalls and cleansing bitter tears.
Still, the air was filled with the glory of an autumnal hymn
as they fell to the ground.
Today, all has been washed away.
Outstretched arms of ancient growth draw down the sky
closer and closer until all has gone gray.
The sky cries out and tips of branches answer,
catching tears in mid air.
Rivulets cascade through cracked and caloused bark,
suffocating the fire...the sting of a lost season.
Tomorrow, all will be silent...
save the wailing of the wind through my heart.
"Reflection is the liturgy of this landscape." Terry Tempest Williams
I Enjoy These, You Might Too
Stacked on the Library Table
- Golden: Birds of North America: A Guide to Field Identification
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November
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- Cliche of the Day
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- The Lost Season
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November
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Ridin' Shotgun
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Just in Case
This blog was created to give my family and friends a bird's eye view of the journey I am on. If you read something that resonates with you and you'd like to plaster it on your refrigerator, bathroom mirror, cubicle wall or share it with someone you love, I am honored. If you read something that resonates with you and you pass it off as your own...shame on you.
Most everything on this blog was created from my heart and mind. If I share other writers' work, their name is credited.
Take good care and enjoy the gift of today.
Most everything on this blog was created from my heart and mind. If I share other writers' work, their name is credited.
Take good care and enjoy the gift of today.
2 comments:
There is a place near the lake where the river water overflows down towards the journey below the earth. Sometimes when I am down I stand there with one eye looking at the still lake with the breeze pushing the overflow and a few leaves down towards the next leg of the journey. The other eye stretches down to see where the river goes after the bend. While sorrow somtimes feels like the full lake hope creeps out and ventures on to new life down stream. I hope you can catch a glimpse of hope and the beautiful child of GOD called Ms. Laura.
See you soon
Thanks Jo...I walked to the lake today, but all was still. I picked up branches along the trail that were blown down last night from the high winds. There was a pattern to nature's littering. Young, tender growth ripped from the top of trees, branches that had been rotting and needed Mother Nature's push to the forest floor and long pieces of bark from ancient trees stripped off by the wind. It's multiple choice metaphors...
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