poetry, fiction, nature, culture, compassion, love
I haven’t decided yet if I’m still a river, but in the winter I do seek to write, filled with the winter wind,
with a touch of sparkle glinting off the snow. I reach in, and out at the same time with at least a partial measure of spirit, or try to.
I find writing from the spirit to be more honest, shaping words from what we cannot see. Connecting.
I love writing, so thank you for reading my posts!
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
As the winter moves in, just above the trees,
the night sky bends and surrenders
with a shimmer of snow
sparkling in the early daylight.
Another day is formed and planted
as poems whisper
into our dreams,
swirling in our sleep
with snowflakes.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
A gentleness settles in, as the silence of winter covers us.
A tangible peace
hovering in, and around our being,
bringing calmness to our spirits.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
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.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
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.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
On the edge of autumn, where winter borders the mountains
a clouded sky,
muted light
bring a softness to the silence
and I can see my breath,
as I gently shape
another prayer
to the sky.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
Winter cracked open the sky today, letting loose a little snow
and a whole lot of wind, ripping
through the pine trees.
The perfect weather
for snuggling down,
and reading some poetry
together.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies
