Thank You

The ground 
had spoken.

At first, a reluctance
to believe actual words were heard.

Was someone speaking
—someone unseen, unnoticed
lurking behind trees?

Painted shadows marked the ground.
Was it a person disguised
filling my ears with 
the illusion of sound?

Again, the ground quaked—
it was a rumble of sorts
and, now as I glanced at my boots,
a soft drape of brown earth
colored the moistened leather of my soles’ cover.

H-e-l-l-o-o-o, I stammered
ever so softly.
I heard something, but I could
not make out the words.

I sat silently unaware of the
growing hours passing by.

I must have nodded off in this haven
of solace…the sun inching its way
toward the west.

I rose realizing I was covered in
mud…the ground spoke clearly now,
“Here is from where you came.
A single breath, and you were
formed and fashioned.  Protect me,
watch over us, this vast crust of skin
veiled over earth,  Care for us so
humankind can grow, multiply and 
serve what it has been gifted to tend.”

Before I could utter a word,
the ground’s last words to my
listening ears, “Thank you.”

My eyes filled with a river of tears
now bathing the surface at my feet.

I stepped differently now, turning back 
wondering if this was ‘just’ a dream.

A garden of flowers blossomed
where I had sat.

Plucked from this garden,
I whispered, “Thank YOU.”

A Path

An uncharted path
hid-den beneath
pristine white snow
—a blanket spread
—a quilt of dazzling snowflakes
     knitted without a needle or thread.

Many paths that we walk in life
we never intentionally
set out to traverse.

Many paths
were invitations
we may not have accepted
YET—the way we had to find and discover
while knee deep in the path’s center.

Stepping with a silent anticipation
—the snow rises above the ankle
—the next step sinks in
     and powder gathers to the hips.

The wind howls
releasing speckles of frosty drops
clinging to eye lashes.
Branches click then clack together
seeming to laugh aloud 
at the site.

Proceeding, more slowly 
every day steps taken for granted
—now gliding, slipping, stumbling
across this path
a satiny sheet of white.

Glazing forward
—a visible pattern
    etched between tree trunks.

Was this 
unmarked
path chosen?

Does it matter?

The beauty of the landscape
even with its 
unspoken perils
invites the walker
to press onward.

The snow 
begins to fall
and once again
the path unseen.

Yet,  for the walker
—an invitation
to begin

AGAIN

Unknown Hour

The branch
holding you for so long
knew it was ‘time.’

The ring inside this tree’s sturdy trunk
forms another circle like each tick
on a clock.

Letting go, you waffled left, then right.
For a few moments, you hovered
in the air like a ballerina
completing a pirouette.

You fell landing in a tranquil pond.
When you touched the water,
     it was a soft kiss.

A gentle ripple spread itself.
You held each other.

The unknown hour came.
You were pulled under
by what, by whom…no longer relevant.

Gone, yet there lies a trace.
Your veins stretch across your 
    leaf’s face.

I see a part of its pattern in me.

Right now, the pond holds the reflection.

I turn aside, moving on—
the branch let another leaf fall.

Sweet

Sweet

A morsel of honey
dripped from heaven’s comb
dabbing the soft palate of 
my being
filling my words with
a savory hymn.

I placed my pen down
and listened.

The salt from my tears
added to the rich flow
of golden sustenance.

A bee, coming from an
unknown place,
lands on my shoulder.

Together, we listen
as another drop
splashes upon us.

Bathed are we in the
sweet expressions of
life’s ‘sticky’ orchestras
always being played.

…become the Wave

I dive.

Leaping no longer an option.

A force pulls me into the open sea.

I am not adrift.

Almost immediately, I am fashioned
into the swirling drops within which I am
now gathered.

A natural flow
—a rhythm undefined
—a sacred dance formed
     is now playing itself out.

In a solitary sweeping motion,
I am part of a wave…no, I have
become the wave.

Effortlessly, the substance of each
enmeshed drop follows a pattern
—one not designed, yet one
    seemingly written on unspoken pages.

Rising to a crest
—an unexplainable high
delving into a curl
—a hallow tunnel absent of any drop,
     yet held by each ‘strand’ of water.

The curl rolls over into its Oneness
—into the sea from which it has come
     and again, the creation of the wave
—the repeated pattern
     discovering itself for a first time
     until suddenly it discovers the shore.

For a moment, reunited with the sands of time
—like two lovers they embrace
     knowing they must depart…
     holding one another
—never forever.

And, the unknowing realization
they are never parted.

Their hearts linked to the vast
ocean of life carry them beyond.

Submerged in wonder
—in hidden depths.

Only now, am I learning to breathe
‘under’ water.

Pilgrimage

Out of the sea,
I surfaced.

My tail morphed itself
splitting in two
—delicate stumps began to bend.

I was held in a moment of silent prayer.

Two feet sprang and I stood.

Limbs branched from a torso, like a breast plate,
and I reached skyward.

Ocean drops fell
upon earth’s bed.

I stepped and could not stop.

I was no longer held in a sea of blue.

I traverse a bed of green.

A hawk soared above my head,
I lifted my arms.
I began to fan each limb
faster and faster.

I was no longer on the ground—
this PILGRIMAGE so utterly new.

I looked down… ‘inside’ I said,
“This cannot be happening…
            I cannot—fly”

The hawk swooped beneath me—
its feathers became a bed for me
to lie upon.

My arms grasped the magnificent
wing span—I closed my eyes.

I don’t know where this pilgrimage began
or where it shall end.

The hawk led me to the sea,
I dove in— forever.