poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
In the quiet of early spring, our voices will travel over the lake
as we whisper our prayers, and pronounce our dreams
believing there is a beautiful reason
God made dogwoods
and placed them
along our path.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2018, ancient skies
Having been a man of the spirit, he was surprised at the size of the wound. Clutching, his side, he barely made it to a large rock, where he collapsed.
He realized now, forgiveness was more than a tasty flavor, to make life beautiful again. It really was – a process of healing. He picked himself up, aiming for the top of the ridge……but it seemed impossible. He stumbled…..
He would pray, regardless of how he felt, regardless of how his faith would change. But first he needed the safety of trees, the protection of bark. The age of angels seemed to be over now.
The earth had been given as a gift, a starting place….. he needed to feel safe again…..in order to begin.
Note: I am fine, but healing is a process.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
Our mountains seem quieter now, the silence
of bare trees, fewer boots disturbing
the trails, and creatures of the forest
choosing to stay
indoors, preferring the burrows
of warm earth, covered
with layers of dry leaves.
As the hawk flies further away
searching for her food.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
Every year the forests remember their calling,
to encourage, to inspire us,
freeing our minds, our hearts
with the sound of rustling leaves,
and their colors
breaking loose,
setting our spirits free.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
It was cooler today, as fresh air filled the forest,
the sunlight chasing morning shadows,
and spider webs glistened, with a few brave birds
seeking branches without thinking.
Leaves fluttered and I realized
I was in the wind, simply
free in my spirit
somewhere, between
earth and sky.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
In the tree tops, where the leaves dance in the wind
and the branches sway
you can hear quiet whispers
as the earth prays for our peace
filling our spirits
with strength,
especially in autumn.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
It was a small flame, on a single tree leaning, as if she had been hiding
high in the mountains, on a cool crisp morning,
revealing only a part
of her future glory.
I smiled remembering her fire,
of yellow, gold, and red, so I breathed in
the leaves knowing
we would all be embraced soon,
by the brilliant fire
of autumn.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
