seasons – Rivers Renewed

Raindrops Tumble

Raindrops tumble through layers of new leaves,

as birdsong from hidden branches,

makes it’s way ascending,

as if the heavens needed a few more hymns

to celebrate

the new life of spring.

Shadows of Small Birds

Shadows of small birds can be seen now, returning to the land

while the sun takes its rightful place in the sky again

and on some days, a cold rain

chases away the snow.

Note: Just a reminder – I’m posting now on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with a little on the weekends.

Thank you for reading!

Whispers of Snow

Whispers of snow quiet my spirit, so I let go of my burdens by releasing a prayer

and somehow, in looking out of my window,

I recognize this feeling….

the peace

I used to know.

The Writer’s Winter

Like many other writers, he refused to see winter as an old grey barn,

or a frozen field abandoned,

and in his walks he really did get infused,

his spirit was lifted.

And he used his wings

to write it all down.

Deep Within the Winter Forest

Deep within the winter forest, pine trees sway, while chipmunks burrow

a little deeper

as God speaks, in a whirlwind

of snow.

Wholeness, in the winter silence.

Seasonal Peace

Seasonal peace carrying our prayers, our hopes and dreams,

sometimes through a light snow

or even in a holiday bow,

drawing us closer into our own humanity

and even filling us

with a brighter vision,

that yes maybe we do have a future,

after all.

Note: I’m on a one day blogging break, except for 1 scheduled. Peace to you.

Winter Unrelenting

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A mystical mist of cold air and warm, of thin ice,

and reflections of snow maidens floating

freezing the air,

the river goes solid, surrendering.

And we behold the glory

of winter

unrelenting.

When Autumn Was Young

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In the tree tops, wind moves through the remaining leaves

and I remember September

when autumn was young

and winter

was only a distant memory.

Autumn’s Surrender

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In the sacred song of autumn’s surrender

in the gentleness of leaves floating

drifting in the wind,

our poems turn upward

into the blue light

and the fury of snow.

Acorns

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In the grey dawn, in this time of in between,

in the silent barreness

of our woods underground

bumble bees draw close,

and chipmunks remain silent,

praying for a blanket

of snow, and to remember

where their acorns

lay hidden.

Category: seasons