Nightfall, river calls
tranquility leaves footprints
on my soul, this life
seldom calm, craves redemption –
river throws calm and I fetch.
(Image my own)
Nightfall, river calls
tranquility leaves footprints
on my soul, this life
seldom calm, craves redemption –
river throws calm and I fetch.
(Image my own)
How is that a tree can stir my soul, so?
Yet, set amongst the Douglas firs –
an orchestra of giants, the reassurance
of green towering and proud – the music
of my soul is nothing less than symphonic.
How is that the sky can speak to me?
No words to convey its vastness, yet
it breathes new life into empty spaces,
whispers promises, ignite a hope
synonymous only with its expanse.
How is it that a body of water -be it
serene, flowing, or turbulent, can tug
at the corners of my emotional well,
create a longing for the unknowable,
toss me from my bed of complacency?
And how does a single flower, growing
wild, crack this shell of indifference –
the determination to blossom despite
harshness of surroundings – instil such
inspiration, motivate me to rejoice?
(On Nature first appeared here, April of 2018, written during our month long stay on Vancouver Island. Submitted here for Eugi’s Weekly prompt: nature. Image my own.
Golden glow transforms
grassy meadow – Earth giggles
with fantastical delight.
(For Eugi’s Weekly prompt: meadows.
Photo my own.)
Even the river bleeds
fiery frigid essence
Earth’s watery voice.
**
It is the river
that calls, waters
flowing through my veins
and I, the banks
steadfast and holding
the razor sharp edges
like liquid steel
erode my earthen postures
challenging…
blessedly challenging…
the hardened places.
(Water: Haiku and Free Verse first appeared here in June of 2018. It is has been edited for this version. Image my own.)
Is it the robin whose morning song so sharp and crisp awakens me in this enchanted place, or the warble of Juncos whose hooded faces delight as they forage between the dried, curled aftermath of a cold Winter, now pushed aside by new life sprouting? The absence of raindrops on tin roof offers promise that the sun might appear today, the buds on the oak trees as anxious as I for the warmth.
I raise the window shades to reveal the lush green of Douglas firs, the walls that divide us from our neighbours: nomads like us in the quest to commune with a simpler way of life. We are metal boxes tucked within green pockets, quiet souls hushed by the grandeur of the forest we currently call home, reticent to disturb the wildlife that also grazes here – squirrel, fox, and rumours of cougar. Occasionally bear. We are skirted on one side by marsh, a lush welcoming for geese and goldeneyes; and on the other by ocean, where seagulls and terns claim driftwood as perches. It is the raven who is master here. Large wings casting shadows, the thrumming call – sometimes belligerent, sometimes a purr – a reminder that this land is theirs, that the totem poles dotting the island are a testament to royalty.
Offshore, seals roam in masses encouraged by the schools of trout and halibut, and soon the salmon run. Orcas gather in semi-circular formation, readying the hunt. Spring is a time of proliferation – abundance after the Winter chill.
Arise, old woman
Nature evokes new rhythm –
Spirit wants to dance.
(Vancouver Island first appeared here April, 2018. It is an early attempt at a haibun. I am linking up to my weekly challenge: trees. Image my own.)
Generosity of nature
blessings abound
in communion
humbled
grateful
alive
(Tuesdays I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own)
A band of blue jays
gather around, debase
serenity of this garden
party: chickadees and cardinals
scatter, sense danger
in raucous intrusion –
Bemused, I watch, marvel
birds parodying humans.
(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own.)
One tree –
a solo sentinel –
beckons
Take comfort,
says she,
beneath my boughs
But I am hungry
balk at simplicity
silence adverse
Till fate arrests me
legs no longer fleeing
the great Walnut my saviour.
(Image my own)
Examining the intricacies
of a spider’s weaving
Marvelling as a mother raccoon
carries her babies one by one
while a bobcat prowls the tree line
Delighting in the birth of a calf
anticipating the arrival of more
Wonder and trepidation
coinciding – and I, behind
lens, am child again
wide-eyed basking
in the glorious outdoors.
It wasn’t the knowledge of stability –
chaos had the upper hand back then.
It wasn’t even that love was expressed –
unconditional an unheard of concept
It was an unspoken presence
the reassurance of rocks
the irrepressible allure
of a freshwater stream
How a child’s heart
found encouragement
in the whispering wind
solace in arbored shelter
Naturally the din of home life
overpowered this self-assured
passage, disrupted kinship
and shattered childish faith
But all that is behind now
and when I clear cluttering
thoughts, disperse static
emotions, still the heart
The rhythms are still there –
presence offering sustenance…
(Image my own)