We exist but not alone. We create from what we may think we know but all knowledge exists in the collective well from which we draw our small dipper these few drops we may hold fast. Palm as precious stones. We may claim as our own. Briefly.
Hurry your eloquent passion
Time slicing devisor of measures
Breathing’s an act of deliberate intention
Dancers like you touching ground
Leave no trace evidence for eyes
Resting comes soon with practice
A bench to contemplate grace
Warmed by hours in afternoon sunlight
Twilight arrives with patient treasure
Gathered from days of the world
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A brief story poem of solitude and ice, dream and journey.
Mother with Child
quiet in this deep wild
She smiles when I come around
Afternoons I bring white rose petals
fallen from my gardens in bloom
Drop my offering slow to soft earth
Then settle awhile
beneath a canopy of peace green
Read one chapter aloud
to anyone gathering here.
https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-d9m7j-104b3db
Reflections on Life, Spring, and Other Things.
So Dylan’s eighty
What message to send his way
Life and life only
How silent is night
You, these stars, and candlelight
Tomorrow on hold
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We are alone, yet we observe others even in solitude.
We meet. Events emerge. Come together. Then part.
You must be shoeless
to feel stepping stones
You must be quiet
to hear songs of ancient bones
You must be ready
to catch a star
when it arrives midday
