poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
As the winter storm roared through the trees, thunder rumbled rolling
through the valley, having been sent down the side of the mountain,
and I realized our spirits are so fragile, we often sense
the loneliness of the wind, with snowflakes swirling,
and yet inside our cocoons, we acknowledge the safety
and that God was never angry, even though
He probably does live in the wind
coming down
from the mountains.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
In the soft blue of a winter morning, the wind shifts
and snowflakes fall quietly, from tree branches.
Honoring the peace, I breathe in prayers
from the earth, a most ancient ritual
of healing the spirit.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Nature will usually run its course regardless
of whether our wounds are healed,
but sometimes snow can speak
to who we are,
and who we would like to be.
It all starts with the quiet
of our spirits.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
When snowflakes start us dreaming,
with a softness descending
there is usually peace enfolding
before the end
of the storm.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Evergreens, standing tall in the blue twilight
of the winter sky,
centurians of fir, spruce and pine trees
lingering in a scent of Christmas
guarding, watching over
the silence
of the snow covered forest.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
She lay awake, next to him listening to him breathe. It was dawn now, and she didn’t want to disturb him, but she really did want to see if it was snowing yet. And it was Christmas now!
As she quietly peered through the window, and into the blue dawn, she saw the wind was up, and carrying the snow almost sideways. Would he like his gift? She sighed, and lay down again, touching his shoulder.
For some reason she needed to tell him how she felt, and she whispered to his sleeping ear, “Did you know you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me……?” She stared at his face, smiling.
He did hear the words, and he let them sink in deeply. It was the greatest thing anyone had ever said to him. He opened his eyes to her beaming smile.
She whispered again, “It’s snowing….”
Merry Christmas everyone!
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, 2018, ancient skies
Hidden away, in the stillness of the snow
under the blue light of winter
a set of eyes,
looking up
with a humble heart
releasing a prayer
and heaven,
as heaven often does,
begins to open
to listen
to the beautiful phrases
of Grandmother Squirrel.
I love when squirrels pray,
don’t you?
Note: Influenced by Native American stories.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
