I hold a peach in my hand the sweet scent lifts my spirits with all the promise of summer blackberries growing wild sparkle like obsidian jewels in the dry summer sun plum butter rich and thick on a freshly-baked scone I close my eyes, the explosion of sensations color my spirit as I taste the gifts of Gaia catching a stray crumb with my tongue I sigh with gratitude and contentment thank you for the flavors thank you, thank you, thank you
We arrived in Cincinnati, Ohio a few weeks ago. Oh lucky me, just in time for the cicada apocalypse. The 17-year cicadas emerged, there were billions of them, everywhere. Yes, at least one got caught in my hair …. eeeeeeekkkkk! (why yes, I do scream and dance around like a little girl). What bothered me the most was the constant noise of the beasties. I also recently read “The Ragged Edge of Silence” by John Francis, so I was more and more shocked at how much “noise” occupies my world and how I yearn for a single silent moment.
Til next time ~Stay Wild Moonchild (quiet but wild)
It is, I think, the tiny things that often give soul it’s wings the humming bird in darting flight fills the heart with pure delight dandelion offered from a tiny hand I’ve never seen a gift so grand a gentle touch, a quiet smile a laugh, a joke, and all the while wondering what tomorrow brings life is lived in the tiny things
By the power of water, pure and clean the world is cleansed of negativity a hillock adrift in the torrent stream all that remains of her broken dreams the Great Mother’s voice whispers “come child, let me dry your eyes you aren’t sad because it rains my dear it rains because you cry”
Everywhere I go I seem to find the Lady’s spirit watching me Look now, can you not see the Lady’s face within the tree or the feminine forms etched in stone nature’s hidden ghosts abiding grace of form now look through her eyes and you just might see all this world was meant to be
Frank is our host at dVerse for haibuns this week. We are asked to focus on the present moment for our haibun. Life is made up of moments, precious, terrifying, beautiful moments. Once in awhile, it all comes together and for just that moment, life is perfect.
Standing on the overlook, gazing at the fairytale landscape below. Orange and yellow stones painted with the colors of the setting sun, and the azure sky. You wrap an arm around my waist, and the moment is perfect.
I watch as the shadow of a butterfly dances across the floor, refracted through the sun and glass. Blending with hospital floors and furniture, forming abstract shapes. A cloud passes over the sun. I lose the shadow dance. The doctor walks in. You are alive. My heart overflows with gratitude, and the moment is perfect.
Spring warms the flowers the wind filled with promise and blessings not yet known
“The time has come,” I thought today “to ponder many things like kids and pets and photographs and why the wild bird sings”
I find myself in a bewilderment. Kids and pets … hmmm, I have no pets, and I generally don’t post pictures of kids (even my own). So that leaves me with those beautiful souls with whom we share this little blue world. I love the feeling of awe when I encounter animals in their natural habitat. I say a little prayer of thanks and treasure the places where the wild things are.
Above, a juvenile big horn sheep in Zion National Park, Utah. They sometimes come down from the higher elevations to feed and pose for tourists.
Here American Buffalo at Custer State Park in South Dakota. You don’t realize how truly huge they are until you experience them up close.
One harried momma duck with a passel of ducklings in Christ Church, NZ. We watched them cross the path heading for the pond, and laughed and laughed and laughed at Momma scolding and herding the brood. Yes, the comedy of motherhood is universal.
My precious little puff balls – Great Horned Owlets in our big pine in South Dakota. I think these count as both pets and kids. We watched them all summer grow from tiny bits of fluff to the day they stretched their wings and set out on their own. They were no longer cute little babies but full grown, gasp inspiring, raptors.
The Three Amigos in the Marlborough District of NZ. In a field full of spring lambs, these little guys found themselves a hill to defend. 🙂
Til next time ~Meet me where the wild things are ~JP
Down, down, down we go follow the path to the stream far below follow the stream to wherever it goes feel the magic as it ebbs and flows where fairies dance and the forest plays I found the magic where night meets day
De (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting Quadrilles at dVerse Poets Pub and has asked for a poem about “bother” what bothers us, what do we find bothersome? What gets us hot and bothered? Hmmm … as I poke my muse repeatedly until she finally gets tired of being bothered and manages to convey some sort of inspiration.
Dreams of Late — a quadrille
At night of late dark dreams have come frightening and bothersome dark shapes I cannot see swoop, harass and bother me moonless skies throughout the night colors fading from my sight searching for the moon’s bright light I wake to find it’s all illusion