Sunlight dapples the ground, sifted to the forest floor by layers upon layers of thick, green branches. The busy, noisy world is nearby. So close you can almost feel it pressing closer. But here, with the tall graceful trees and the whispering of the wind, it is peaceful. Quiet. Nothing hurries here...
The wooded path stretches before me, safely enclosed by kindly branches. Leaves crackle softly underfoot, my skirts swishing against the rough tree trunks as I walk.
I watched out the sun-roof,
As we drove towards the city,
As millions of Diamonds spluttered,
Dimmed, Agony, Faded, Monotony -
Blinding traffic lights, tranquility lost.
Someone tell me we haven't lost sight.
Hey, hey, hey, Jack Frost! I see ye comin’ round the bend
With your sleigh of ice and white powder to send
With a bite of the wind and a kiss of the breeze
Hey, here comes Jack Frost! Can you not see?
He’s the one who comes each year, his eyes of creamy blue
His clothing is that of traveling frost, with white crystal shoes.
It is white magic that fills the air
It falls so slow, so gentle and so fair.
It settles upon your open hand
As if ready to be loved;
This white powder from above.
It can be so thick, so light,
Yet oh so smooth and bright,
It shines sparkles and twinkles
Like gems and diamonds upon the ground
Just waiting to be touched, just waiting to be found.
I think we have something to learn from a lot of things. Things we take for granted, and don’t think twice about. Things like snowflakes…and hairbrushes…and candles…and glass…and rain…and sugar crystals… And asphalt.
mist hangs suspended
bewitching, elusive
drifts over the soybean field
reaching up from the neighbor’s lake
reaching, rising
a breath from a soul
the moon is a mirror
a sliver less than full
a mirror of your inside
warmth, wildness, wonder
and room to grow
its cool light echoes over the cool earth
a consolation
against the death of day
Here’s something random that jumped out of me the night before last, as I was sitting idly in the dining room, in front of my sister’s laptop, looking out the French doors and watching the day die… I figured it could be my July contribution. And for August, I’m going to have something revolutionary. See, the story goes…*deep breath*…my sisters and I won scholarships to participate in the Irish week at the summer music camp at the Augusta Heritage Center in West Virginia. So I’m going to write something little every day, about my experiences, and type it all up when we get home.
I walk slowly up the hill. The chilly wind sweeps down from somewhere outside this world, and rushes past me in a flurry of illusive wonder. Out beyond the little patch of green I stand on, the trees stretch out in rolling splendor to the horizon—and slowly, slowly they’re turning crimson, and orange, and gold.
Wandering by the pond
I stop and see
The form of me
There, looking back.
Like a magic wand
The wind has moved
The pond and proved
Another world, beyond.
Wandering through the grass
I look and see
Up above me
The sun's bright globe.
And there in the pond
The Heaven's world
Is taken, swirled,
And thrown back up, renewed.