Wanderers and Prophets

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We wanderers, ever seeking the lonelier way, begin no day where we have ended another day; and no sunrise finds us where sunset left us. Even while the earth sleeps we travel. We are the seeds of the tenacious plant, and it is in our ripeness and our fullness of heart that we are given to the wind and are scattered.

Kahlil Gibran

 

Leaves Before the Wind

We have walked, looked at the actual trees:
The chestnut leaves wide-open like a hand,
The beech leaves bronzing under every breeze,
We have felt flowing through our knees
As if we were the wind.

We have sat silent when two horses came,
Jangling their harness, to mow the long grass.
We have sat long and never found a name
For this suspension in the heart of flame
That does not pass.

We have said nothing; we have parted often,
Not looking back, as if departure took
An absolute of will–once not again
(But this is each day’s feat, as when
The heart first shook).

Where fervor opens every instant so,
There is no instant that is not a curve,
And we are always coming as we go;
We lean toward the meeting that will show
Love’s very nerve.

And so exposed (O leaves before the wind!)
We bear this flowing fire, forever free,
And learn through devious paths to find
The whole, the center, and perhaps unbind
The mystery

Where there are no roots, only fervent leaves,
Nourished on meditations and the air,
Where all that comes is also all that leaves,
And every hope compassionately lives
Close to despair.

May Sarton

to the Earth

Eery with the waft and wiff of wildlife.

Sad and yet, joyous is their song.

I understand between the lyrics…this, this, is where I belong.

Never to run, a walk is where my curiosity fits.

Though nothing is delicate between the thorns and ivy. And, cagey hills are lonesome and long.

The untamed…a favorite song.

Sanguine and sandal-ed…to the earth is where I belong.

My silhouette of vanity ties me to the beauty.

My silhouette, minuscule, to all of mother’s scenery.

Hard Woods

Cedar Chips and All It Delights

Moist the air that brings to light…cedar chips and all it delights

While cantankerous fowl sweet-talk to be gods of the sky

imageedit_1_3165514651Eyes open wide while I release the shutters of months left behind

This passage of rites, fool hardy?

Nudged, I arise to this transformation of movement

So, when it stirs, I stir

When it darkens I lament

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Somewhat Sane

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An eerie sense of comfort in the December mist.

I collect all my faults in…what is unnoticed.

Though, I am not half the woman I think I am.

Isolation in the still-life of rain…

Guards the fact that I am still somewhat…sane.