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Thank You

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.”

Drops of Color/ …I’ll be back again

Drops of Color

…I’ll be back again

Sammy  Did you hear that?

Rosie:     What?

Sammy:  Shh, there it is again.

Rosie:      The only thing I hear
                    or feel are the icicles forming
                    on my nose…already 
                    they’re a frosty shade of pink.

Sammy:    Quiet!

Rosie:        Hey, I heard it, but…

Snowperson:  “Pack it good, real good!”

Did you say that Sammy?
No, Rosie.

Snowperson:  “Come on children,
                                    let’s make all we can
                               of this moment.”

Sammy, Sammy can we keep
the snowperson forever?

Snowperson:   “Rosie, I’m here now.
                                  One day I’ll melt away,
                                    but I’ll be back again…

                                              Now, how about a few more
                                            flakes around the middle?”

Sammy, are we dreaming?
No Rosie, this is REAL
and let’s promise
no one shall ever take
away our wonder.

Snowperson:   “Well said, LOOK, it’s snowing…
               Catch me if you can!”

A Path

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

Drops of Color/ What Song

Drops of Color

What Song?

Sing to me…

What song is being sung
in you?

Are you blowing through
the saxophone?

Are you caressing
the piano keys?

Maybe you’re strumming
the strings of the guitar
or tapping the skin of the drum
with wooden sticks.

Are you sounding a trumpet?

Perhaps you are holding the
microphone and words
are flowing from your lips.

Are you someone quietly listening,
taking it all in?

Maybe you have leaped from your
seat and created a dance floor…

you are gliding, dipping, swooning
right NOW.

What song is being
played in you?

Follow whatever ‘notes’
and
create the symphony

‘in’ you.

Unknown Hour

 

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.

Drops of Color/ GOOD Trouble

Drops of Color
“Never, ever be afraid to make
some noise and

get in GOOD trouble, necessary trouble.”

                                          ~~~John Lewis

I Still Remain

A square etched
on a blank page.

What words
began to follow?

One drop after
another falls from
a sky sliced open
no longer holding
the weight of its tears.

Back to the square
~~~a lined drawing
now becomes a box.

Stepping outside,
I lay the sketch
~~~a lined image
of the box
on the soaked ground.

Suddenly, an abundance
of gathered drops
fills the box so quickly
that the image

NOW

washed away.

I stand, soaked.

I am not washed away.
I stand, I am
present, alive, free to
wander.

Even though I am drenched,
I still stand.

I hope
      I trust
                 I believe

in GOODNESS.

No-thing can
wash me
away while

I still remain.

In Memory of John Lewis, ‘GOOD Trouble.’

Sweet

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.

Drops of Color/ One

Drops of Color

One

We are One Tribe
We are One Nation
We are One people

Why do we go on
pretending we are not?

Your Joy is my Joy.
Your sorrow is my sorrow.
Words flow like a river
down my cheeks.

Your prayer is a choir
sung from the heaven we live in here…NOW.

Look…even if your sister
does not understand you,
she remains your sister.

And, if your brother believes
you’ve veered off the path,
together, you still walk with
your brother on this land.

Your skin color—
Your sexuality—
Your beliefs—
Your religion—

If they separate You
from this One Tribe,
this One Nation,
from our Oneness
as people
United in Creation—

If it so…

Run, run and do not
stop until your very
breath almost leaves you.

Stay until the very roots
‘in’ you find their way
into the soils of life.

Trust, you’ll be fed by
rain, wind, bird songs,
luscious fields of wheat
and barley.

In time, you’ll rise
to the Sun calling you.

You have already Risen—
do you understand?

Now…go back
into this World…

Proclaim—
We are One Tribe
                   One Nation
                         One People
beneath a Universe of Stars
‘Welcoming’ us to
simple abundance each day.

…become the wave

…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.

Drops of Color/ The Gate

Drops of Color

The Gate—

it is not so narrow.

In fact,
if you simply ‘lift’ the latch,
it opens.

In fact,
if you’re unable to lift the latch,
there IS someone to lift it for you
—trust.

In fact,
the truth is ALL are welcome to enter
through this gate.

—You don’t have to DO anything
     to gain access
—You don’t have to be a certain race
     to pass through.
—Your religious background/affiliation
     do not matter…
     in truth—if you wish to leave
     your beliefs at the gate’s entrance,
     you can OR you can bring them through!

Because, what’s in your heart
is heard here.

Beyond the gate, the path is inclusive.
No judgements.
Sticks and stones are on the ground.
There they lay unless you pass a pond
and wish to toss a rock and gaze at
the circles growing wider and wider.
The sticks make great kindle for
evening campfires beneath stars…
white diamonds
glistening in a cascading black sea.

The gate.
There is so much more to be said,
but, lift the latch—

ENTER

it is open for all.

It may be a bit
narrow.
Everyone can pass through.

Pilgrimage

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.

Drops of Color/ Solitary

Drops of Color

Solitary

The sea is
relatively calm—
white caps were making
their way before the
horizon’s line.

A solitary boat
rested along the edge
of the rising tide.

Stepping into the boat,
I cast off,
thrusting the oars
over the edge.

The winds rose
as did the vessel.

Carried into uncharted waters,
I reached, but there was
nothing to hold.

I let-go.
How do you let-go of nothing?

I heard a splash,
then another.
Dolphins were gliding alongside
this wooden boat.

A seagull landed
on the bow.
It let-go of the wind
long enough to hold
this present place.

Where am I?
This place?
Where are the waves
carrying me?

The sun has set.
The only visible direction
—an ocean of stars.

The rocking
has cradled me enough
that I closed my eyes.
Did I sleep?

The moon rises
from hid-den galaxies.

I am not alone.
Invisible oars lap the water.

I am destined for
the Unknown.

I know you’ll greet
me when I arrive.

Whom am I kidding?
You are the Vessel
I AM within.