
to me, the seagulls are always connected with the river in winter–
resting on the frigid wind currents–
crying out in the deep allegheny valley
that carries their haunting echoes upriver


to me, the seagulls are always connected with the river in winter–
resting on the frigid wind currents–
crying out in the deep allegheny valley
that carries their haunting echoes upriver


the day awakens
and with it–
hopefulness

i think about the complexity of life
after a difficult conversation
and the simplicity of life after watching a goldfinch;
but then, i spot two mourning doves mating in the grass,
and watch them become startled by a dog
barking at a darting dragon fly–
simplicity melts into cause and effect, the chain reaction tripping a switch in my head that makes me look up at the day opening before me and quietly walk away

whispering your name into the fog,
the soft sound was carried gently by the rising mist,
while a cool august breeze caressed the echo

we have lost our way–
losing one another and so losing ourselves

contemplative heron

today, i will make paper stars,
i will drink cold tea with abandon,
i will walk along the water and kick the stones along the way–
today, i will smile at a stranger
and hold the future in my strong and time-worn hands

Catch us now for I am your future
A kiss on the wind and we’ll make the land
Come over here to where When lingers,
Waiting in this empty world,
Waiting for Then, when the lifespray cools
For Now does ride in on the curl of the wave,
And you will dance with me in the sunlit pools
We are of the going water and the gone
We are of water in the holy land of water
And all that’s to come runs in
With the thrust on the strand
from the song, Jig of Life by Kate Bush, 1985

we sat up high and watched the sun set,
the boats dock, and the impending darkness creep upon us

sometimes silence feels like a warm embrace