Fast and current the muddied water
a flutter by,
a brown cardinal,
singing, heroically from a petrified tree.
Tomorrow will not be there for me.
Tomorrow will not be there for me.
In the dance of a well tuned song,
the grackle,
the squirrel,
in fury,
sing,
Tomorrow will not be here for me.
Tomorrow I will not sing to thee.
Tell Me, Wild Rose,
How do you grow?
With what other majestic colors…do you move about?
What does it feel like to never be alone?
Open up ya eyes and watch the sunrise
One part of me I’ve been made clear
Love that goes spread all the world
My love ya comes out of devotion
To rule ya spread to the world
In strange town I’m on my mission
Where we praise the day straight our way
All the nation
Let me be the love that comes form the sun
Let me be your rainbow rising on
Every single raise out of space
Will Shine on, shine on!
Let me be the love that comes form the sun
I wanna be your love light from above
Manuel Reuter
I drive these back roads…
And,
am,
reminded of home.
Long, desperate, going places that have passed along.
Gritty browns with nameless…greens.
A picturesque, quaint, scene.
Of course,
I have aged like farm-stand cheddar.
Tart but tasteful. with a woodsy trace.
Though life has sped up.
I manage to find a slower pace.
In a quest for deeper appreciation…
I delve further.
Windows down…
Listening for a weathered sound.
There are no wrong turns…
In my veiled valleys.
Just moss under my wheels.
And, a love for nature’s folly.
The warmth of lily pads had beckoned me back.
Had I known I lost my way…would I have come here to stay?
So far down the broken walls and Morrill Ponds…I had strayed.
A graceful, swoop of Blue Heron, caught my entanglements and, my manner of being easily…dismayed.
Hidden inlets and their flowers…had rosined up the bow to a bullfrog’s song.
Sun bathing Snap Turtles felt no need to run from my dusty, collective thoughts.
In the echo of my dusty self indulgence….
Could it be I just needed to get out of my own way?
Random thoughts, poems, and opinions. *Opinions are subject to change. - Nathan Harrell
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I am Brangien [Brangaine] of Weisefort, Ireland, lady-in-waiting to my cousin Isolde, who became promised to King Marc of Cornwall. His nephew Tristan escorted us to England by ship. But Tristan and Isolde fell in love at sea. As ye may know, or will find out, they cite the philter they drank as the cause, over which I was supposed to keep vigil. I would like to share my perspective of how I have created good in the world through my herbs and observations. There is much to tell, including how I have adopted this odd language. In good time. My life is in God’s hands. –Inspired by the modern French translations of the Tristan and Isolde texts
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