A deep tureen
concealed by forest foliage
and therefore mysterious.
crafted by beavers,
quiet but for birds and insects
singing her secret name
while raindrops drum her surface.
Dead wood and weeds clog her banks
where dragonflies are born
and grow in her slimy gumbo.
To those who live there
she is the ocean,
the bottomless crater that holds the world.
But as this wondrous old bowl
reflects the clouds and stars
she dreams she is the sky.
©Photo and poem by caf
Her breath rose and fell
spaces between in and out growing wider
Gasping for air, heartbeat shallow and fast
feeble voice barely heard
pink skin turning purple
finally, breath stopped, heart raced a few seconds, concluded its beating.
The doors of body closed.
There is no return.
May the rising sun sanctify and bless Your name
We sing praises to the Holy One
for the life of one we loved so long
Gasping for air, crying on an inhale
learning the in and out rhythm of breath
The fast heartbeat that slows with growth
purple skin turning pink
lungs growing a louder voice.
The gate of womb shut.
There is no return.
May the falling rain sanctify and bless Your name.
We sing praises to the Holy One
for the new life we have been blessed with.
May the Lord of doors and gates
Going out and coming in
acorn and oak
child and old woman
bless our hearts with unceasing wonder
as we witness the commonness of mystery and holiness.
May Your name be praised into all eternity.
© photo and poem by caf
I’ve been noticing: Many of the acorns are tiny this year the waters are full and rushing waterfalls are full and loudly vocal the sun is sometimes red in the morning the moon has not been so visible frogs continue to croak dragonflies still hunt mosquitos I remain in love with cows mountains continue to inspire me we are rich in slugs the spiders have been busy webbing mornings have been foggy mushrooms are abundant the trees are lushly vibrant I still miss my Mom I am so grateful for this life. If you keep noticing you will reach gratitude that overflows as a water fall streams from an overfull lake or a river spills its banks from too much sustenance soaking the ground of your life the banks of your heart and the rocks of eternity. © film and poem by caf
After Night
After a long black night
pink and white clouds
yellow sun
dark branches waving
against a glowing sky.
Icy waters slide over stones
spring winds rustle the chimes
as she watches the waking forest and fields.
She says the day love and joy were born
has come again this morning
to be remembered
to renew Spirit in the world.
Miracles live within each other.
After dark storms this day returns
as much a miracle
as the breath
and heart that live
within the blue bird on Bennett Hill.
©photo and poem by caf
You attended my first breath,
I sat by you for your last
and everything in between
was how we were
in the world together.
How I miss you now.
I think I see your feet sticking
of my jeans, but it’s only me
wearing your shoes.
In the forest
a Mother Tree …
her spirit flies
as her sapling cries.
©poem and photo by caf
A Spring Birthday
When the violets
and Jack in the Pulpit awaken,
ferns unfold their bowed heads
and stand tall in frond wrappings,
trees pause in conversation to attend
to the yellow visions of Dandelions
and to Trout Lilies and May Apples
as they pray for the dead snake on the path.
You may say this is fantasy
caused by too much listening
to the whispers of a greening forest.
But she has come to rouse her sleepy soul –
to rise with spring and warming days
having been summoned by wind, river, stars and stones
to this holy place
to receive a new voice
to learn fresh songs
to birth a new dream for her life
and new hope for this aching world.
©photo and poem by caf
Continue reading “A Spring Birthday”
Moon Flower
I sat under the flower as she grew upon a vine of stars
in the night sky
her glistening white stamens
and yellow pistils
nestled among pink, purple, yellow and white softness of bloom.
Fragile
and calm in her unfolding
she offered her light to the world,
shyly, then boldly
then fully.
This blossom of the night
begins as a seed in darkness
and grows to full splendor under the sun,
a morning glory blooming at midnight in winter,
whispers hope of spring.
©photo and poem by caf
The Poet
Someone said the poet is dead
she was old and sick and died
But, I said, I went out
and saw her in the forest
among the trees.
No, they said,
she passed away
it’s in all the papers.
But that cannot be, I replied.
I saw her in the meadow
admiring the grasshoppers
and feeding them sugar water.
You’re wrong, they insisted.
She is no longer here.
She is not dead, I retorted
I heard her this morning
she wakened early and went to fly with the geese
Can you not hear her calling to the world
how we all belong
and live forever?
She is not gone while we remember to notice the fields
and the swans on the black river,
while we wake early to sing to the day.
She is not gone.
© poem and photo by caf
A Morning Blessing
In morning sunlight
in early winter
when hills are browning,
with mindful breath she breathes the wind
with sacred song she woos the waters
and begs the trees and the Spirit within
bless the beasts, she whispers
the possums, porcupines, woodchucks,
the birds and bugs and worms,
bears and bobcats
gorillas and fish,
and also, humans.
Bless the plants
who in winter store holy life
in their roots
and bring it forth as
new growth in the spring.
May all beings live their lives
free from turmoil
may the Earth be always blessed
Amen.
©photo and poem by caf
In The Forest
In the forest
she learned a language
a new vocabulary
not of words but of winds
of light, shadow texture,
a coverlet of silence
understood by newts and lichens
The moon knows this talk
and the clouds and sky
Where her spirit’s poetry
swells in worship of fern and toad,
a tumbling of wind words,
a rush of bird speak,
the language of sight and smell and touch.
A windy ocean in the trees
Spirits descending like fog,
The forest holds her grief and joy
And shadows by the front door
have no more power.
©photo and poem by caf
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