Unforgettable

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Winds singing through the pines
and an amazingly blue sky.
What gifts!

The scent of sage mingled with
the essence of the air
in the mountain sun.
Could there be more?

Birds chirping somewhere
beyond my sight
in the lush foliage,
then a doe with her fawn
ventures carefully,
warily,
to the edge of the prairie grass.
She stops
and watches me.


So still.


And the chamber music of nature
continues to entertain
as the doe and I watch each other.
What amazing, deep brown are her eyes.
I breathe slowly,
for even a sudden intake of air
might send her away.
The fawn,
not yet fully artful of the dangers of humans,
nibbles at the dry grasses.


For long minutes we remain thus,
both she and I afraid to move,
and then the opus of nature
is interrupted by something beyond my perception,
but not that of this gentle, beautiful mother.
The fawn is gone in an eyewink,
while the mother lingers a second more,
as if to assure that I won’t follow.


Then she, too, disappears into the safety
of the piñons and pines.

I blink my eyes,
as I’ve been afraid to do for these moments,
and I see that the few clouds in the sky
have shifted while I was mesmerized.
In those seconds
the sounds of nature have changed also,
as I hear more, different birds,
and there are distant sounds of cars on the highway.
I wonder how long we really stood there,
that mother of the wild
and this human one in the doorway.

The sun on my shoulders is warm.
The wind continues to whistle in the trees.
The clouds move slowly across the sky,
and I move on with my activities.
But the fleeting time that I stood
captivated in her eyes
is imprinted in my heart.
Now when I hear the breeze
pushing through the forest
and smell the gentle aromas of nature,
I will remember the gentle creature
who trusted me just enough
to stay and let me know her
a bit.

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My Path

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I feel the path under my feet
as I walk.
I feel the occasional pebbles underfoot
and sometimes the softness of the grass.
I can see these things, too,
but I don’t or can’t avoid stepping on them.
Feeling these as I walk
seems to be a necessary part of my journey.
I look ahead and see the path
but only so far.
Then it disappears over the horizon
or behind a tree
or around a bend.
Each step brings me closer,
but I’m not sure what it is
I’m seeking.
I’ve walked a long time now,
and I’m sometimes so weary
I want to lie down
and go no farther.
But I don’t.
Instead, I look over my shoulder
at the long road behind me,
and I realize how far I’ve come.
It’s then that I know
there is no stopping me.
I will go where the path leads me,
because only then will I be able
to live the life I’m meant to live,
to experience the joys that wait for me.
I haven’t worked this hard,
walked so far,
fought as I have,
to not realize the rewards.
This path does not end,
it is my life.
Let it guide me
where I am meant to be,
because I’m ready!

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Winter Sunset

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The sun is low in the West.
Just at the moment when it touches the horizon,
it appears vast,
a massive orb of fiery salmon color
against the evening sky.
The barren trees of winter
stand between me and the sun,
their leafless branches weaving together,
forming a dense web
just above the line of the hillside
like a stiffly starched collar of black lace
rising upward from the bosom of the earth.
The orange sun, glowing between the filigree of trees,
emphasizes that frilled pattern with its molten lava brilliance,
breathtakingly penetrating the spans between the dark branches.

The sky behind the sun
is a mass of brilliant pigment.
There are no clouds to snatch the colors
and twist them into variegated tones
as found on the artist’s palette
when he mixes over and over,
looking for the perfect hue.
Rather the color spreads away
from the vivid glob of orange and pink
as if drawn by the artist’s knife across the board,
becoming gradually fainter
until it begins to blend with the muted blue of the late day sky,
and creating a color unique to this moment.
No beginning and no end to the colors.
They are simply there,
an indescribable and wonderful vision
to end the close of day with flourish
and marking it unique in the never-ending
march of sunsets through centuries.


Then, in only a few short moments,
the sun, that titanic globe of wonder,
slips beyond the hillside
and the light quickly fades.
The darkness that was the tangle of empty tree limbs
only a breath earlier,
now wraps around everything in sight
and grows deeper
until it all is black.

I bid good-parting to the day.
I have no choice.
But already I am planning
to be here at sunset
tomorrow.

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Her Name Was Mystery

~ ~ ~

Her name was Mystery,
because she was a stray
from places unknown.
She came to our home,
and she was love,
both loved and loving.
She was my protector.
Gentle as a baby, she was,
so how could she protect me?
But I knew she would,
because she was devoted to me,
sleeping beside the bed at night,
especially when I slept alone,
watchful.
Her heart was gentle,
she never barked
until the man in the black hat came
and she became the dog from hell,
placing herself between me and him.
Hat removed, she became quiet,
once again our loving, docile dog.
We could never train her
in a chain collar,
nor walk her on a linked leash
for at the rattle
of the metal chain,
she cowed and whimpered,
almost as in pain.
Had some man in a big, dark hat
used a chain
on this beautiful, loving creature?
What a beast he must have been,
for this dog, our Mystery,
had nothing but love
and gentle devotion
in our home.
My heart broke
when she died.
She was loving and devoted
to the last breath,
blessing our lives
and teaching us in silence
that even the wounded spirit can love.







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Indian Summer Sky

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The sky is deep azure,
so blue and mellow
I’m pulled into it
and wrapped in the velvety folds.
The warmth of the sun on my back
is a welcome rarity on a November day.
I close my eyes and let my senses
go where they will,
and they go everywhere and no where.
I can almost feel my body float free,
while my mind is caught up
in simple happiness.
I know there will not
be many more days like this one,
when I can soak up the Indian Summer,
breathing it to the bottom on my lungs.
I hate to see the gentle weather go,
but other treats lie ahead.
The snows will come,
blanketing everything in white,
creating a new and beautiful sight
and cleansing the dust away.
It will soak into the thirsty soil
and prepare for the spring.
New life will begin to unfold under the cover of white,
bringing hope for another spring
with the beautiful buds of green
and blades of grass
and leaves.
Another beginning.
Never an end,
but always another beginning.


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Haiku IV

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Vivid crimson leaves
framed against the azure sky -
beautiful color delight.


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