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Left Handed…
Left Handed
Left handed…
right handed…
the memory retains the shape,
the formation of
consonants and vowels.
Spelling words out with the
use of the non-dominate hand
—a challenge
—an exercise of engagement.
I am so mindful of my every
breath as I curl an ‘e,’ as
I inhale an ‘o.’
I linger a tad longer
crossing the ‘t,’ dotting an ‘i.’
Such minute detail taken
for granted until one begins
to learn an old skill
in a new way.
We can learn to adapt,
adjust, pass on, carry on.
Change—external,
transforming us internal.
The wonderment given to
us is gift when what is
so ordinary to us—
taken (even if for a short while).
Do not wish this space
over soon…
It has much to tell,
to write…
Yes, left handed.
Drops of Color/ Wedding Garment
Drops of Color
Wedding Garment
The garment
—a natural design
—a fit needing no alterations
—feathers laid like a winnowing fan.
A blue painted sky
began the celebration.
The wedding feast
—an invitation to all.
The trees let loose—
The ground shook as sprigs of grass
stood tall like towering steeples.
Buttercups unraveled.
Why, even the wind stopped a moment
to honor the silence.
Silence…the opening hymn.
Wings spread themselves like open arms.
The sun lit the cathedral.
An open eye
scanned the vast assembly.
Everything had its place.
No words spoken—
No rings exchanged.
They took to the
sky and exchanged a
wedded kiss.
The garment no longer two—
they flew as one.
Petals of white feathers
floated down
anointing the ground
blessing this
holy union.
Let Me Flutter
Let Me Flutter
A broken wing
—still it fluttered.
The passage of unmarked time.
A soft veil torn beneath skin.
A gentle hand dove in
weaving torn strands
clinging to this limb.
Round and round
a cocoon formed
holding a branch clinging
to this living tree of being.
A wing, a limb, a branch,
a tree—
each separate and, yet one.
The vessel within flutters…
flying is not in sight.
Each miniscule motion
strengthens the internal
transformation
unseen and proceeding.
Rest…a sudden surge.
It is not time, it is not
time we are making.
Now are the faint moments
where accomplishing nothing
becomes the masterpiece forming.
Please do not rush
this process.
Do not wish it over
before it has begun.
Let me flutter.
Drops of Color/ A soft Howl
Drops of Color
A soft Howl
In moments
of silent meditation,
a soft howl brews
inside of me.
Then, the howl expands
on an ordinary
piece of paper.
…hold the stage
…hold the stage
You hold the center
of an endless menagerie of
wild flowers.
Your ears catch the wind like
billowing sails.
Your nose cradles the scent
of feathering grasses
brushing against the blanket of
your coarse fur.
The sun, like a spot light,
casts itself on
your delicate presence.
For a long moment,
you hold the stage
until your long lanky legs filled,
as if by the sweet hymns of insects,
praising the dawn
leap effortlessly~~~ a rhythmic dance.
I do not see your wings.
Yet, you fly with an
unwitting secret
needing no answers.
Drops of Color/ Rainbow of Puddles
Drops of Color
Rainbow of Puddles
Slender bristles
separate, yet bound together,
dangling from a wooden rod.
Each strand
seeking ‘the color’ revealing
an essence of its individual self.
Only inches away
a palette lay…a rainbow of puddles,
pooled separately.
The rod, rocking
back and forth,
not of its own making,
but that of the
collective gathering
in the form of a brush.
The anxious thrill
to bathe oneself
in one’s color
BUT…
a pause holds
—an empty canvas waiting.
One brush, many bristles
decide to use each color
not one left out or excluded.
A prism painted,
another canvas beckoned.
When ‘all’ the colors used and fashioned
—utilizing its purpose,
the designs
Eternal.
In His Eyes
In His Eyes
Was I gazing
into my own eyes?
Laugh if you will…
I was.
There he stood,
a few feet away
on four slender posts.
They held his wobbly gait…
but it was his eyes.
Was I love struck?
Black ‘pools”
like liquid glass,
they ‘flowed’ through me…
Gently, I spoke,
he took a few tiny steps in
my direction.
The lashes of his being, like a
broom, NOT sweeping me away,
but bringing me nearer.
I stepped,
and he took two steps back.
Together, we held a pause…
he shuffled forward—
a rhythmic dance began.
I reached out my hand.
The air held the silence.
I heard the beating of my
heart, or was it his?
Perhaps, it was ‘ours’ in this moment.
His wet nose caressed my outstretched
limb…I attempted to place my
hand on his brow…
at first, he pulled back.
His ‘mates’ were watching,
‘Only ‘ young males resided in this
space~~~
their ‘horned’ fathers were ‘gated’
in the pasture alongside this
stretch of land.
Again, he drew nearer to my side—
my fingers extended like a
saucer to a cup.
He rolled out his velvet tongue
across my skin
draping it with wet kisses.
I patted his head, his delicate ears,
his damp muzzle.
I found in this tender creature
a glimpse of myself,
desiring this encounter never
end…
I stepped on—
we held each other’s glance.
I wept…
knowing I am no longer
the same.
You, I am.
Walking the Pembrokeshire Coast Path May/June 2019
Drops of Color/ Undecided
Drops of Color
Undecided
Do I go up the stairs
or do I walk down the stairs?
Who or what determines
where the stairs begin?
What if they never end?
Why is ascending the
path we seemingly aspire to climb?
Do we fear the descent because at
its deepest roots we could actually
discover our unseen selves?
I sat in the middle of the stairs a while.
I wasn’t drawn in either direction.
Up, down…in the moment I sat
balanced.
The stairs did not crumble or fall.
I was not launched in a direction to soar
nor was I destined to plummet into
the depths of a hid-den well.
Can we meet in the middle?
Your thoughts, my ideas, your opinions,
my approaches, your style, my design…
From this middle ground—
I sit here on these stairs,
together, the stairs are endless
in ‘all’ directions.
Fashioned
Fashioned
You, fashioned by the dawn…
a musical note flowed from
your windpipe.
Your feathers stretched themselves.
From left to right
instinctively, you spread yourself wide….
The song growing inside now heard as
you began to fan your wings.
Carried by the sun,
rising to your tune,
a new day begun.
You laid down a
feather,
a simple reminder
you only have to carry
so much
and never let go of
your song.
Drops of Color/ Full Bloom
Drops of Color
Full Bloom
When you unfolded,
the heavens rejoiced.
The waiting—an eternity.
Now, that you arrived,
each moment that proceeded
this dawning
~~~alas, makes sense.
I don’t want to close my eyes.
The petals of your presence
have attached themselves
to my Soul.
Yes, my Soul, in full bloom.
It did not even see
the arrival.
Now, that it is here,
closing my eyes
~~~I see.
I see what could not
be timed
or planned
or predicted.
Opening, opening
to an unfolding
noticed
here, now
then gone.
Blooming season
shall ‘become’ once again.
Now, my Soul
no longer struggles
as it waits.
Itself
Itself
In opposite directions,
arms reach.
One end
digging deeper into the soil
grounding itself firmly.
The arms above spread out
in a manifestation of praise
extending an eternal reach
as if knowing
it is met and held.
Clinging to what is invisible,
its weight does not deter its
unwavering extension.
As seasons change,
as weathers re-shape
the wooden limbs,
the tree again becomes
‘itself’
lifted…
Risen in perpetual adoration.
Holy hands
united in creation
~~~the first story
begun without words.
Drops of Color/ The Interview
Drops of Color
The Interview
The interview began.
“Please, take a seat.”
Which chair do you wish me
to sit upon?
“The empty one.”
Excuse me, but…
“I’m sorry, I did not hear you.
What did you ask?”
It was nothing…I’m simply going
to sit.
“Good, good take all the time you need.”
Wait, I’m here for an interview.
I thought you were going to…
“Excuse me, did you say something?
Sometimes my mind is racing and
I’m oblivious to the sounds all around me.”
It’s alright…
I’m beginning to think this interview…
“Pardon me”
Well, this interview…there are no questions
to be answered.
“Yes”
I’ve been invited to sit and LIVE
the questions.
“Amen.”