Monet’s Brush

Monet’s Brush

It was night,

and a sea of clouds
hung like a marina of vessels
bedded down, held in place.

Yet, it would not be so.

The wind struck a tune.
It gave a sequence of trumpeted ‘blasts’
until each anchored cloud
gave way.

And, drawing back,
there she hung,
nothing could out shine her—

the moon’s purpose
not to compete.

Instead, the curl of her essence
blessed the night.

The stars, like boats,
launched themselves

painting night’s ocean
with a brush as fine
as Monet’s.

Drops of Color/ A Simple Flower

Drops of Color
A Simple Flower

I picked a single flower
from a meadow laced
with buttercups.

One vibrant yellow flower—
I placed it in a jar
—for you.

I was going to pluck another
and make it two,
but the scope of the jar’s
circumference became the sun.

The beams of light
‘cupped’ the flower.
The buttercup glowed,

and like a sky of endless stars,
it was my gift of Love
for you.

This flower became each
who loved you
as I love you.

This flower holds love
on a slender stem.

Can you see
all that IS in
a single flower
I have picked for you?

Journal/ Day 19 and 20 Switzerland Via Alpina

Thank you for walking with my ‘words’ through the vast country side of Switzerland.
My wings are preparing for another flight, a NEW Pilgrimage.
I will connect when I land again on home shores.
Till then…
‘Ring the Bell that still can ring,
there is a crack, a crack in everything—that’s how the LIGHT gets in.’ 

                                                                                                                                                            Leonard Cohen

Switzerland 2022

July 19th, 2022

It doesn’t have to be the Alps.
It could be the flutter of a
butterfly’s wings decorating
an array of pastel colored
the continuous flow
of the water fountain in town
after town where
—the children splash & play
—the adults dip their hands in
lifting the cool refreshing
drops to their brows


The Pilgrim, pausing,
refills a water bottle.

The sound of the Steeple bells
announce a new hour
while ‘clanging’ bells chime through the
endless minutes in a day
draped around cows grazing
throughout the hillside…

such peace.

July 20th, 2022

“You are part of the Great Oneness
and what you do affects the whole…

You are a voice in the chorus,
a string on the Beloved’s guitar.
When you change your note,
you change the whole chord.

                           ~~~Steve Garnaas-Holmes

Over mountains.
Dancing above clouds.
Step after step after step…

Final destination—
a lake of glass.
Its ‘blue’ shades dip
into the sky.

My mind ‘jumped’ in…
No longer was I
one single drop in this sea.

I am the sea in every drop.


Drops of Color/ Sculpted Swans

Drops of Color
Sculpted Swans

The night sky
was a sea of black twisting licorice
draped with clouds like crepe paper.

A wrinkle formed, another followed,
and the moon revealed itself
—the light within her
beamed from her hid-den craters.

Below, chiseled swans stood
balanced on a bed of green grasses
—slivers of fine threads
—a dazzling quilt.

When the stage lit
by the moon’s orbiting
—glittered swatches of
the stones  began to crumble
from the sculptures.

Feathers fluttered
fanning  the night
—stars drizzled down
and a dance ensued.

As the dawn drew near,
each swan turned
taking a bow.

The stars followed their path
—the crepe clouds
covered the moon.

When morning arrived,
the ground was blanketed with feathers.

The stones cried out,
and sculpted wings
were carried by a 
still small breeze.

Journal/ Day 17 and 18 Switzerland Via Alpina

Switzerland 2022
July 17th, 2022

Wallbach Gorge

A storm found its way
into the gorge
—it left an aftermath
of damage.

What does this mean?

Simply…YOU create your
own path.

One never ‘leaves’ the path…
life’s lessons have opened
doorways and NEW doorways
as a result of a whirlwind
of changes throwing ‘everything’
out of proportion!

Mid-wife, are you here?
Naturally, you always are.

You’re the voice
reminding me
of the loving place the womb IS!
Inside…we’re warm, held,
comforted, nourished…unconscious of
time, the months developing, stretching,
forming and growing


the space NO longer conducive to dwell.
Does every fiber of life hold out until
those final moments and, like a
storm, break through the gorge of
the uterus delivering life—
a new opportunity to expand
and encounter the path that

This day, a new path before us.

Conscious, mindful, and aware of
the unknown, we step
filled with gratitude.

There are guides keeping watch over us
—they have been with us
all along.

So Grateful.

July 18th, 2022

“Every moment in our life is a new
departure, an end and a beginning,
a joining of the threads and a

                                            Yehudi Menuhin                    

Very fine threads
have placed themselves
on the path trod each day.
The threads have also been
encountered in a variety of

A look back
—what a carpet ride it has been.
Yes, a magical carpet ride
with today and tomorrow
extending their finest

Already, I can feel pieces of
SELF becoming frayed…
—my steps move with ease
—my limbs strong and agile.
My eyes hold the
dazzlement and wonder
in and through everything
the Soul
still mindful that this doorway
is drawing to a close.
I will not have a reservation or
hesitation to lift the latch
a final time and close this
chapter of a life, my life’s
Never-ending story.

I know tears shall spill into the
lake, the final place of rest
from which I depart.

This pilgrimage holds many encounters,
reflections that shall return me home.
Lessons will reveal themselves.
Choices made will give way
to how my ‘senses’
—such faithful guides
took me across a countryside
traveling like the rising sun each day
lifting this body in the East
and stepping West to each day’s

Thank you




(Inspired by Dave Smith:  “The Spring Poem”)

Beneath all sediments,
in theory,
I’m a poet.

So this piece is 
Spring in all
its hidden verities
coming to blossom.

I have lived through a 
lifetime of Springs
not one was 
ever the same.

THIS Springtime
—before its arrival
—I was a naked branch
attached to a vine.
I suckled upon its juices
…a new born babe wrapped in
swaddling clothes.

In the long winter
months, I was fed
beyond any other season.
No-thing visible
—still I took ROOT.

The crippling cold
broke me in places.
 I’m different, reshaped, transformed
yet, still the same.

Ready to burst
—the flowers, buds, fruits of these words:

Yellow daffodils
lifting through brown
damp soil strewn in Autumn’s leaves

Blue skies holding the 
stars blotted out by
a fiery orange ball
—an endless flame
—an inferno.

Green grasses that look like
slender stilt walkers
sway across
the landscape as the 
soft winds ramble and weave
their delicate dance.

—red birds sing a melody
bringing me to my knees.
A chorus of insects, microscopic bugs,
larger than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
—bellow refrain after refrain
while the Owl pulls the 
moon out into the darkness.

A black sea
—Heaven’s Dome
littered with diamonds.
The Milky Way
—her essence revealed
—she becomes Light.


I’m a poet…

what do I know?

Journal/ Day 16 Switzerland Via Alpina

Switzerland 2022

Dearest Mid-wife,

I greet you with warmth, kindness,
tender affection and ALWAYS gratitude.
When first my pen touched these pages,
‘YOU were.’
Lines ‘mentioned’ your presence.
You were the ‘ink’ flowing from the
tool allowing consonants and vowels
to open doorways.

As each day rose like the sun,
it closed with the stars.
I did not specify You in
a literal sense, and still,
‘YOU were.’
Weeks have passed.
I write this piece for YOU.

The journey westward is moving away from
the high passes
—movement into the meadows and
valleys lay ahead.

Wildflowers, clanging cow bells,
and dancing butterflies
ruffling the fur coats of marmots,
bathe in the light of new dawnings.
Some-thing NEW has begun
in me!  What does this mean?

Honestly, I cannot say
what I have witnessed!

My ‘soles’ allowed me
to cross over the terrain.

Evergreens…the towering pines
reaching skyward nestled below
the mountains that dwell in
the sky.
That glorious dome above my head
—how the blue sky filled with
cotton ball clouds creates patterns on
the ground and ignites the vibrancy
of color stretching on and on.
When the purple shades of dusk
appear and shadows bring out
the watchers of night,
I have sat waiting, watching for
that first star.

Mid-wife I thank you that
‘YOU are.’


To what might I liken this pilgrimage?
The immediate ‘image’ coming to
mind is a playground.

Why, might you ask?

Well, let’s first play on a slide.
Before the SWOOSH down,
there is the climb—
one step followed by another.
At times, both feet step on the
same landing…
other times it’s left foot first,
right foot ascending past the left.
The climb is filled with effort.
One holds the sides or, better yet,
‘poles’ to keep a ‘balance.’
The views from the TOP
have taken away my breath
time and again.
The ‘slide’ down…slow and steady.
Before you know it, you’ve
reached the bottom and you are sitting
in a bed of wildflowers.

The second adventure in the playground
…the swing.
For countless moments, I have felt as if
my feet never touched the ground.
Soft breezes pushed me forward.
I lifted my arms soaring with the hawks
When my feet finally touched the gravel
path, I lurched toward the ropes.

The third playful item on these ‘grounds’…ropes!
On the ropes you never feel,
‘I have this!’
Each step, exactly where it is meant
to be AND each step filled with
purpose and hidden anticipation.

This playground…a pilgrimage.
When it ends,
then it truly will have begun.


Drops of Color/ In Your House…

Drops of Color
In Your House…
(adapted from Psalm 84)

Blessed are they.

In silence, the sound of a match

The flickering candle sets off
the beauty of the flame.

The slits in the wood
allow a soft yellow tapestry
to dwell on the fixed two-by-fours.

A family is gathered around a table
—the turning of a page
then another
before a voice speaks,

“Blessed are they…”

The aroma of baking bread

—a cup of blessing

—enough to taste.

Thanks given

‘In Your House.’


Journal/ Day 15 Switzerland Via Alpina

Switzerland 2022

July 15th, 2022

29 peaks…

Stood together
and vastly apart.
Many held thousands upon thousands
of feet of snowpack.
From a distance beyond measure,
the rushing of a waterfall
followed by another
found a way into a river
moving with speeds almost as great as sound.
Many peaks revealed their sharp,
distinct natures.
EVERY one of the mountains held
the sun, the moon, and stars.  They
held the clouds sometimes ‘lifting’
their inner cages that set free
the birds filling the skies with
hovering angels.

29 Peaks
each climbing above 4,000 meters.
They have NO fitted gear to rise.
So, tell me…
WHO formed You?
Wait right there…Please!
I know there are scientific
meanings and theories revealing
the coming together of endless
I listen and have limited sense of
knowing all these recordings, facts, data
and measured time

I know there are doorways of theological
truths, mystical revelations, transformational
Scrolls have been written
hid-den in caves…
dates, times written on page after page
after page
a vast array of testaments


the 29 Peaks stand
before ‘time.’
THEY are the Gospels that need no
Standing, rising they move.  Oh, they MOVE.
They are NOT changed by explanations.
THEY need NO acceptance, fanfare
or awards for being.
THEY do NOT speak in words
instructing ‘anyone’ or ‘anything’
on how you, too, can arrive.
THEY ask NO fees
to support their daily
So, WHO formed YOU?

If you gave the secret out,
I’m already beginning to hear
the vast array of diverse opinions.

Standing within THIS community
of 29 peaks,
a silence speaks—
a HARMONY exists
before existence even began.

WHO formed YOU?
Who am I?
It is a distance to reach the
vertical climb of over 4,000 meters.

Sharing the same ‘ground’
…Thank you, Wondrous Earth.
I’m going to keep walking.

Black and White

In loving memory of William Kinney (9), Evelyn Dieckhaus (9), Cynthia Park (61)
Katherine Koonce (60), Mike Hill (61), Hallie Scruggs (9)

Black and White

The words on the page
—ink splashed in a sky
draped in clouds.

The written message
turned into shadows.

Faces appear.

At one time these faces
would have been ‘strangers’ to me.

Now, as I etch eyes in the drapery of white clouds,

I see them…looking into the depths of my Soul.

I cannot grasp or understand
‘all’ that I see
as I sketch these portraits.

While this pen creates images
beyond black satin words
dripping in tears,
I am living the questions

in every line, curve, detail
—each person.

Their stories
—their purpose
—their very ‘beings’

A Living Testament…
A Lasting Testament…

The Only truth
we must choose to stand for
above anything else

is that their deaths not be in vain.


May we hold in our hearts, Audrey Hale (28)

Journal/ Day 14—Switzerland Via Alpina

Switzerland 2022

July 14th, 2022

The Body of a Mountain

Slabs of rock.
What appear to be plastered in
place, these towering peaks drizzled
with the abundance of snow
capping the mountain’s head.
So many times, in a single day,
the head ‘lost’ in the clouds.
What are its thoughts?

The face of the mountain
—How does it see?
—Can it hear?
—What does it smell?
—Does it taste?
Looking at the mountain,
I trust its ‘view’ never-ending,
and it waits to hear the morning’s
first songbird preparing the
altar it is.
It hears the sun, like a match lit.
A candle it becomes, manifesting
the mountain in ‘ordinary time.’
It smells the incense of heaven
from which it dwells
and tastes the melting particles of
Often it spills the chalice of
its essence creating an avalanche
to feed the unseen places in the
mountain’s body waiting, waiting, waiting.
The mountain’s shoulders
are broad and stately.
They are doorways from which ‘limbs’
stretch unfolding pathways for those
who place themselves in the mountain’s
There feels what seems an extended
invitation, ‘Come, come to this place…
rest awhile, be still.’
AND, from this tabernacle,
the mountain’s soul.
Although not visible, a pulse beats
—it is not marked in time
—the very ‘measure’ of its essence
unraveled when the first stars collided
and it LIVES in this ballad.
The mountain’s base camp
—its foot stool.
Wildflowers decorate the setting.
The mountain’s service never ends,
but its message becomes clearer and
Its body groans just enough
for me to hear,
“Walk now in peace.”


Drops of Color/ Oh, so Grand

Drops of Color
Oh, so Grand

Like a snake,
weaving itself through a 
dry, barren terrain,

its skin blue, shedding itself.
Brown…its milk—embryonic fluid.

A womb—
its cervix walls, solid layers
of rock fashioned, becoming
before a single word of testament
etched in stone.

The canyon…Grand.
Alive, its breaths beholden
to a sky, a ceiling keeping
watch both day and night.

Stars paint the rocks,
and when the sun lifts its
head, it reveals a masterpiece
changing, changing, changing.

To hold one’s gaze on this
tribunal of chapters,
the story line has no beginning nor

Every second look is beyond
the first glimpse.

Its beginning—no one present
to tell.

The Canyon is a Mother
—birthing splendor.
Seekers from all over
sit at her edge,
trek down her paths,
plunge into her waters.

She turns back no one…
Some she holds allowing them
eternal rest.

Many come once,
and are never the same.

In some, she resides.
The dust from her soils
embedded in the marrow
of a being

Oh, so Grand