Syllables of light
lining bare limbs, floating
on winter’s surface

Shore Acres State Park, Oregon

 

 

This is our garden guardian, Stumpy, seated at the hub of the known universe, noting the Big Dipper’s clang as it changes its tilt, and watching for the wax and wane of sweet woodruff at his feet.  He has grown more cryptic with time, merging peacefully with lichen and leaf litter. His words are few, the usual mix of earth and sky.

 

 

 

                                                                            Celebrate your deep-trailed

                                                                            heart, feather-lined lake

                                                                            star-dropped cares, caught lightly

 

                                                                            Sing your full-bucket

                                                                            song, off-beat rhyme

                                                                            spiraled ellipse, anchored sweetly

 

 

Warmth—crocuses
break open among
the tended rocks

 

 From the old ash tree
like joy boiling over
shining gusts of song

 

Entrance (noun): a place for entering, door, gate, etc.

Entrance (verb): to fill with delight; to enchant or charm

 

 

 

 

 

 

Draw close, peer through a wildly wee window, and the ordinary world drops away. Your one-eyed view through keyholes, knot-holes, and Easter egg peepholes is a one-way ticket to the other side, the shimmering one that almost makes you fall. Into. That’s how I feel when I step out from my bright, electric world onto a spring-green, low-lit trail with its tender vine maples and sword-pointed ferns. Take a look!

Lightly,
Darkness drifts between stones
Foreshadowing

Final golden flame
Crowd of cherry blossoms
Still unfolding