Morning on Bennett Hill

                    creek

 

                   Morning on Bennett Hill

It was a magical morning to be awake on Bennett Hill
The horses and cows were blowing fog from their nostrils
as geese and crows competed
for the shrouded airy currents.
The rising sun looked like a ghostly lantern
as it tried to penetrate the mysterious steam
that enfolded everything in a sheer gray woven fabric.
I heard a chorus of joy rising from the creek
and as I ran to discover the source of the song
I saw angels rising from the mist that blanketed the waters.
A gentle wind was stirring and the angels were chanting:
“Holy is the wind, Hallowed is the wind that stirs the waters
and brings us breath!”
As the breeze dispersed the mist and the sun burnt off the fog
I watched the chorus fade, still chanting.
And staring at the water I saw smiles in the waves
and heard laughter in the currents.
I took up the angel’s chant
“Holy is the wind. Hallowed is the wind that stirs the waters
and brings us breath!”
And I heard the wind reply:
“Holy is this earth. Hallowed is this Earth that calls our names
and gives us life.”
©  Photo and Poem by Carole Fults

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Coyote Wind

Jan Wild Moon

Coyote Wind

Did you hear the wind last night
howling up the creek
whistling in the snowy, twig shaped shadows
of January’s full moon?

Did you see the moon
last blustering night
brazenly brightening the deep sky
dark of clouds?

One time, when the gale quieted
and all sound was frozen silent
I slipped outside in time to see
a Screech Owl fly stage front shrieking
“Wild, wild everything is wild!
Everything is wild!”

The wind rose again as I huddled under a tree
It pushed me through a tunnel
into the reckless freedom of space and adventure,
shattering the stale sameness
that orbits everyday life.
It sang a new way into being and then,
returned me to my bed, freshened,
where the barking spirit of Coyote
stalked my sleep
and dreams dripped into an awakened life.

©Carole Fults photo and poem

Angel of the Labyrinth

Labyrinth Angel 1

I walked the labyrinth with your hand in my pocket
and your voice on my shoulder.
Your shoes walked with me
and we saw that there are barriers in life
and you can jump them sometimes if you want,
but if you do you find yourself someplace
you were supposed to be earlier or later
but not now.
The smoothest way in or out is to follow the path
without leaping the stones, though you know you can,
until you reach the center
where the way of return is not what you think
and is unrecognizable, although it mirrors the way in.
If you don’t follow the path you could be lost in the maze.
I heard your voice say
“It takes a lot of patience, but
what else are we here to do, except follow the path to its end
where it begins again, notice what’s in our way
one foot, then the other
breathing, opening, paying attention.”
I say “I’m so happy to have you on this path with me, so glad you return when I call you, and wistful when you go.”
Tell me a truth”, I say to you
“Tell me what you’ve learned over there after you finished the labyrinth.”
“Things just are” you reply. “Just look and enjoy, there is nothing else to know.”

CAF

©Carole Fults photo and poem

A Short Encounter

tree-in-creek

A Short Encounter
I heard her before I saw her
body leaning as she attended
the lilt of a stream playing at her feet
amidst rhythmically clacking stones
a swing draped over one arm
deer signs nestled between her toes
proof of other visitors.
I caught her looking on
as I slowly stalked the center of the nearby labyrinth
but though she watched my slow progression
she did not halt her harmonies with the creek
or let loose of the wind
crooning in her boughs while some silly bird
yammered from his perch on her tallest limb,
some kind of avian rhythm I presume.
I heard and saw all of this as I rambled
along the labyrinth path
and when I reached the center of the puzzle
her spacious bones set loose a blustery breeze
and her old leaves rattled
as if applauding my achievement.

I bowed to her, my audience,
and as I withdrew
the creek, the wind, the bird and she
returned to their private world
where important things are known,
no one forgets to sing their part
and no one misses a beat.

©Carole Fults

 

The Complaining Cow

P1100231

My Life and the Complaining Cow
Lying on my back on my yoga mat
looking for insights on the ceiling
the way astronomers look for stars against the sky
waiting for that one instant when all will become clear.
And when the big solution arrives
there’s no band of angels announcing the coming of the answer
no star in the east, no light in the tunnel, no trumpets or gonging bells, no voice in the darkness
but here come the geese, again, and the complaining cow across the road
here’s the kiss of the fog and whispers in the shadows
here are phone calls from friends and the adoring stares of dogs,
here is unlimited biscotti,
a kiss from my sweetheart
here is my life.

©Carole Fults

The Onesquethaw Creek

The Onesquethaw Creek

Morning on Bennett Hill

It was a magical morning to be awake on Bennett Hill
The horses and cows were blowing fog from their nostrils
as geese and crows competed
for the shrouded airy currents.
The rising sun looked like a ghostly lantern
as it tried to penetrate the mysterious steam
that enfolded everything in a sheer gray woven fabric.
I heard a chorus of joy rising from the creek
and as I ran to discover the source of the song
I saw angels rising from the mist that blanketed the waters.
A gentle wind was stirring and the angels were chanting:
“Holy is the wind, Hallowed is the wind that stirs the waters
and brings us breath!”
As the breeze dispersed the mist and the sun burnt off the fog
I watched the chorus fade, still chanting.
And staring at the water I saw smiles in the waves
and heard laughter in the currents.
I took up the angel’s chant
“Holy is the wind. Hallowed is the wind that stirs the waters
and brings us breath!”
And I heard the wind reply:
“Holy is this earth. Hallowed is this Earth that calls our names
and gives us life.”
by caf

©Carole Fults