Heartwood

Heartwood

I sat in the waiting room and gazed at the beauty of the woodwork.
The soft glow of light streamed in and illuminated the rich grain,
drawing forth texture and softness through its satin finish, 
so strong- yet welcoming. I thought of the process that changed a rugged tree piece by piece, board by board, into this new form of inner beauty. 

I am much like this tree, coarse and unbending on the outside, 
but somewhere inside lies a powerful, warm, glowing softness- 
that can only be revealed after much change, stripping away my hard sinuous bark, cutting deeply into my heartwood to bring out the best within my core, richly veined and wholly perfected. 

Shaped by a loving Master whose gentle hand 
touched the very depths of my soul and set me free.
I am strong, useful and seen by all as a masterpiece-
giving of myself, because I am healed, I am an instrument of healing to all who would see what the Master has made of me.

The Song That Fills Me

I sat quietly enjoying

the morning sun on my face,

the gentle songs of birds

lifting on the breeze.

The variety of songs

wrapped around me.

The buzzing of flies and riffle

of branches soothed me.

What was I supposed to hear?

The lessons of song and sun?

I warmed to a feeling of peace

pondering how each touched me.

The blue sky and open

expanse of the desert entered me.

The power to be one with the birds' vespers

that sung to no one...and everyone.

Do I live as joyfully as they,

raise my eyes to the sky,

and sing the song that fills me?

I sometimes wonder--What is my song?

Good Friday and the Songs of the Birds

As I left home and slowly walked across the school yard. I was greeted by the song of birds. The previous night's wind had ceased and all was calm and cool. I thrilled to hear the Western Meadowlark, Black-Throated Sparrow, Say's Phoebe, Mountain Bluebird, Yellow-Rumped Warbler, Rock Wren, and Mourning Dove. I stopped for a time and let the morning awaken in me a love for this time and place. As I waited in silence of spirit the horses neighed and the clouds drifted. Inviting me into a glorious "Good Friday" morning that I will not soon forget. 

 The Vibrant Scent of Hope

"Come sit with me"

the song of earth said.

Awake to the power,

drink from the saucer of life

the shimmering butter yellow dawn.

Feel the birds gentle prayer

as fingertips of song touch me.

joyfully saying "lift your spirit,

let your heart rejoice."

Alive with wonder I

taste the sunrise on my skin.

Where all nature assembles

in quiet gratitude.

Not a world of chaos,

but of song blending into

the vibrant scent of hope

filling every broken dream

with color. 

Bleached Bones

Its former life faded

broken and lifeless.

Why here? Why now?

What purpose do you serve?

Half covered by sand

reaching up to the light,

scarcely noticed, 
yet, brilliantly white.

The cold breath of winter 

enters stone and cleaves it.

Desert pavement hard and cracked

chokes plants struggling to stand.

Scattered cans and a pail

lie alone and rusting,

bottles litter the ground,

relics of former beauty.

  A broken chair, spare tire, 
a crocheted doll,

boxes tucked in corners

holding on against the forces of time.

At some distance lies

an abandoned home.

Its' skeleton clings to the sky

cracked and deteriorated.

Laughter no longer rings

across the yard-

empty, not safe, scattered.

What has stolen your vitality?

Harsh realities of the desert

break, tear and weather-

leaving pain and loneliness

searing in the shifting sand.

At first glance 

the wide open spaces frighten,

overwhelm, distract and leave one 

their own morbid thoughts.

Yet, deep down at the roots

spring life from emptiness,

blades of tender grass

shoot up, sheltered by bone.

  A pile of bee crates shelter cottontails,

protect mice, crickets

and delicate blooms from wind

and gather warmth from morning sun.

Not a place forgotten,

a setting for fear and abandon-

digging deep into open soil

the mind, heart, and soul

grow strong in solitude.

The Voices of Rain

Rain Song

Lying in half wakefulness I heard the song of rain,
the clapping of thousands of gloved hands,
the laughter of children splashing in puddles,
the dripping of water off of heavily soaked leaves,
the crashing of a waterfall on to distant rocks,
the pitter-patter of drops drumming on a tin roof,
the rhythmic beating of a heart,
the breathing of the earth as a sigh,
the crackling of logs in a fire,
the rolling of the river over stones,
fingertips lightly tapping on windowpanes,
the peaceful turning of a water wheel,
the gentle spray of waves dashing the shore.

The voices of the rain embrace the howling wind
and caress the clouds, soothes their anger,
calmly dripping it slowly down on the earth
in many ancient primal voices that 
strum the strings of earth and sky.

Oh, how I love the rain!

Fresian Flight

Once in awhile you flee the desert and seek another adventure. We stopped at a well known farm. You guessed it. We wandered around and saw the baby animals. Some were exotic and others the regulars on many farms. The show stoppers were the Andalusian stallions and mares. We were thrilled to see the Frisian stallions workout and in an outside pen a jet black colt at the mares side. Touring this farm reminded me of my childhood. My father and his ark of animals. Spring was new life on the hoof as a child. This was a gentle reminder of all that I miss now that Dad is gone,  but is an open window to my heart.

Coal Black with Wings

The young foal nuzzled in to feed,
then stepped lightly back and looked at us
with large eyes and flared nostrils.

As we lingered- he began to play,
hooves flying and back arched-
he wheeled around the paddock
gushing endless energy all over me.

He seemed to dance and spar with unseen foes
already acting the stallion, cruising the sand.
Powerful legs leaped and turned-
twisting in air, settling down gracefully.

A tornado in a fur coat- momentarily pinned to earth-
only to pop up again and again.
Glistening baby hair lightly curled in mane and tail,
a faint star shone on his forehead,

sparkling eyes, upturned ears took it all in
he returned to safety at mothers side,
only to launch anew
What rocket sent this zephyr,

an apparition, a muse, a mirage
yet, real and strong?
Embodied gentle words, quiet music and hushed tones
a specter conjured up in living flesh.

I only know I felt the feathers brush my face,
smelled the scent of pines lifted in quiet solitude,
drank deeply of crystal blackness,
and flew rhythmically to oceans' depths.

Lifted on Pegusus' back-
coal-black wings stroke the wind.
I felt something more as I touched the unseen-
past, present and future in one foal.