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Drops of Color/ That’s why

Drops of Color
That’s why

Walking across a bridge
back and forth,
then back AGAIN!

Why?

History, painted in boards,
stain after stain
after bloodied stains!

Why write about the past?
Why speak out?
Why invoke the memories?

So that they no longer repeat
themselves…that’s why!

Seems we have to cross bridges
AGAIN and again and again.

Together, let us keep crossing
the bridges until we realize
everyone is free to cross.

No matter your race.
No matter your religion.
No matter your gender.

What matters is:  YOU are!
                                We are…One.

Cross the bridge—
help the ones who cannot
get across!

Let us carry one another.

No One is too heavy.

We are all Sisters & Brothers.
We are all welcome
to dwell in 
‘A Promised Land.’

It’s time.

We cannot give up trying.

CROSS

let’s cross

until no one is left
behind.

The Growing of a Soul

The Growing of a Soul
I have walked this path
a thousand times.

The Seasons have changed their
face as well  as mine.

I have labored here as 
I placed one foot in front
of the other.

At times, I backtracked.
Something, someone catching
my eye.

I lingered, reflecting on
the past…days held in the sun
and, yes, even the storms
that taught my ‘limbs’ to move
about in wondrous ways.

Yes, I have walked this path,
times too numerous to number,
and the most profound change,
although unseen, is the change
within.

I talk with stones, with trees
and forest creatures.

Most of the time I refrain from
speech and listen to the stars,
the first rays of sunshine
and the fullness of the moon
on a chilled haunting night.

This path has grown my Soul.
Each day I arrive,
I begin again.

I circle while dawn
rises and a purple
western sky fades into blackness.

The shadows hold tender
places until the light
finds a way to transform
itself welcoming 
and letting-go.

No matter how many 
moments that have
brought me here, now…
I continue to ask, ‘who am I,
and who are you, Lord?’

I hold a leaf in my
hands that the wind
has pulled from a branch.
A hawk screeches over head…
such an extraordinary song,
and I walk on.

The sound of my soles
touch this earth,
and I hear my breath
while my heart beats inside

—a Soul birthing another
Season.

Drops of Color/ Here Again…asking the same Question

Drops of Color
Here Again…asking the same Question

Chewy, rich, gooey

savory, chocolaty
seeping with delight.

One wrapper removed
—ingesting the tiny piece of candy.

Treats…no tricks.

Ahhh, unwrapping another
—it only gets better.

The gourd seems to smile
filled with pleasures.

Is this season really here…AGAIN?

Seems only yesterday I wondered,

“What shall I be?”

Did I pack away the costume?

Funny, each year
I ask the same question
—deep down really asking,

“Who am I
after removing
all the wrappers?”

Painting a fence post…

Painting a fence post…

why it is quite
natural

—no planning
required

—only the ability to 
wait and behold
the ordinary

in all its

extraordinariness.

Drops of Color/ Jump In

Drops of Color
Jump
In

That’s right!

Take a few steps back.
Catch your breath.
On your mark, get set…Go!

Before you…
a pile lifting to the sky.
Red, yellow, orange fading leaves
 wait for You.

Leap from the ground,
dive in
‘crunch, crack, crunch.’
A smattering of leaves fills the 
air, and you
lay upon a leafy bed.

Autumn’s golden moments.

Jump in before
the winds arrive
carrying the world
into another wonder.

Moving On…

Moving On…
is there really 
anything more
to say?

Drops of Color/ The Bridge

Drops of Color

The Bridge

A long trail
through the woods…

Hours passed, the color
became ever more vibrant
as the sun reached its zenith.

An opening drew back the trees,
and a bridge suddenly
visible…it appeared as
an opened hand
reaching out,
“Come, Come and Cross.’

I stepped before realizing
my feet already in motion.

Wooden boards, giant oaks, formed a cover.
In the bridge’s center,
‘all’ the light—out.

In the darkness, I held my place,
for how long—unknown.

The darkness revealed messages
—unwritten realities expressing
the beginning of all things.
The black shadows hid-den
within this bridge held the void.

The ‘hand’ nudging me through—to another side.

The deep shades made way for
the pastel paintings of life— good.
It is all GOOD.

I walked, glancing back
—the bridge held the full moon
in its hand.

Becoming

Becoming
I am moving in the
direction of
becoming the miracle
I already am.

Drops of Color/ This Glass

Drops of Color

This Glass

It was a small glass making
its way around the room.

A smattering of ‘lip’ gloss appeared
along its edge.

Yes, a sip was had
by one, then another
and another.

Still,
the succulent juice
did not run dry.
Instead, it ran over

pouring itself

on those who
chose to 
drink from its contents.

The lives of those who drank
changed.

They could not stop serving.

Rings

Rings
As the seasons spin
like the wheels of a cycle,

As planets revolve
around the sun,

This writer pens
familiar words

like rings forming ‘inside’
the towering oak.

Yes, the seasons
reshape its form.

Yes, the sun touches its bark
warming its core against all
pervading elements.

New rings circle around & around,
the writer
ever the same and expanding.

A Story Book…

Drops of Color
A Story Book…

with only two pages,
soft, translucent.

Across the ocean, its ‘binding’
secure, while the weightless orange
sheets fan precisely

and hold

hovering long enough to glide with
the sea’s breeze.

The story book takes on several
days of travel.
When land in sight, a
soft clover begins a new paragraph.

The last sentence…
the pages take flight
seeking a place where
the story will begin again!

Listen to the story—
its power turns
the tides.

Grief and Gratitude

Grief & Gratitude

One wing is
the finest feathers of gratitude.

The other wing,
a meticulous pattern.
The same feathers
lying side by side
of grief.

One side is NOT divided
from the other.

Gratitude and Grief,
when drawn together,
give One the grace
to fly.