Wildflowers Calling Forth the Sun

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We are made from many streams, aren’t we? pieces of a larger river twisting

through open fields, our lives as a meadow thirsting, for nourishment, with wildflowers….

calling forth the sun, to the mud on the shoreline, we sense, we learn our direction,

becoming the very grain we dream about, and allowing the wind to gently move

through us, in the fields.

          

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Note: This may sound mystical but it’s actually about our hearts and whatever faith life we have.

In These Woods

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What words can I shape, to tell that in these woods

I am made strong?

That hope runs deep here,

through the veins of oak

and pine, and maple trees,

through the earth

lives the permanence 

the assurance of oneness 

where there are no shadows

to be afraid of,

how can I ever express Lord God

that I am never alone,

covered in the warmth

of the blue sky.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies

Into the Rain

20180930_123817I’m dusting off my leather bound journal, finding my favorite pen, and I’ve put together a small stack of poetry books,

on the kitchen table, including one called, Hope in the Morning……and later a walk into the rain, down by the lake,

if it’s not too cold. I love how rain drops fall, on the water singing their own special music.

Right now though it’s time for some cheesy eggs and toast, dipping in my tea bag into a steaming cup

making English Breakfast tea. I love these rainy mornings……

I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but been taking one day a week to recharge. I work alot

so I find it essential, and maybe we were made this way, but I didn’t pick a particular day, it just kind of happened.

So on late Friday afternoons until sometime on Saturday I’ll disappear, but only a little. I have preplanned a couple of posts.

Thank you so much for reading!

Peace.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies.

Our Spirits Will Still Speak to Us

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In this age where beauty and revelation are wounded

from disease and fear,

our spirits will still speak to us,

as if oceans still lived in our frames,

and as strength filters back into us

we will be confident once again,

standing tall

even in the mist and the ruins.

       

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies