What is this liquid heat I have guzzled on mornings beyond count?
Is it dirt – black and grainy?
Is it root or bark – ground and bitter without any sweetness?
From where does it collect its flavor?
Does the sun, source of fire and warmth
add to its astringent taste?
Like a soul, it must be finely ground
to be useful.
Some say it comes from a bean grown on tree or bush.
I say it is liquid Earth
black, oily delight for my spirit.
©poem and photo by caf
Consider the Great Love
who first imagined you
constructed your soul and body
instilled your breath
distilled the beat of stars into your heart.
Recall the river
who entered your spine at birth
and runs up and down
flowing through your limbs and organs
whose glittering surface
shines through your eyes and face.
Consider you did not will any of this to happen
It occurred by grace of Life.
You made a space for it
as air makes space for birds
holding them up gently on currents
as it does also with clouds.
Remember the Great Love
the river
the air and clouds
for they are the truest self you have.
©poem and photo by caf
abstract art artist blog carole carole fults creative creek earth flowers forest fults images lavender life magic magical midnight moon moonand sky morning mystery nature night peace Photo photographers photographs photography Photography and poetry photos poems poetry shining sky stars stories sun sunrise tree trees wild wilderness wildness wind
Wind wanders through trees
touching leaves
blessing rocks, waters and Earth
teaching herself about them
and her own limits.
Forest,
home to Common Raven and Wren
rock and leaf
moss and ice,
blow from me the anxious breath of past storms
and replace it with calm certainty and peaceful grace.
As geese assume the currents
that carry them
may the flow seeking me
find me quickly and carry me aloft.
Wind says
I am curiosity
I cannot blow myself,
still my breath touches these things I see.
I am my own breath.
You are a Common Human,
but extraordinary in your Being.
How could you be otherwise
having breathed My sacred air.
©photo and poem by caf
Lazy moon in her bed of night sky
makes no light of her own
but only reflects the sun
and trusts the earth to keep her orbit steady.
She lights our darkest world
and her burnished body covers the pines in lacy glow and shadow.
Yes, this spoiled child creates miracles of beauty while doing nothing
but sharing the light she has been given.
©photo and poem by caf
The tree extends to her
across the road and river
a branch, its wing with flowers white and delicate.
She looks into the centers of calm harmlessness
as they attend to her gaze with
offerings of healing fragrance.
Their spirit offers her inclusion in their peace
and they whisper
when nothing within is defended
or denied, you, too,
will awaken to your own beauty.
©photo and poem by caf
Waning moon
Stars, small suns to other worlds
the smell of morning.
No matter the evil,
the ugly,
or the political,
the Mystery is still here.
©photo and poem by caf
You are the soul of so many tunes
and my soul as well
old friend – what do you think of your life with me?
stuck in a closet
needing new strings and a tuning.
You are a grand lady
who has served me well
and I will not give you up
although our times being with each other have grown scarce and thin.
Old Max brought us together
muttering over his work bench
tuning, humming
looking for tiny screws with a magnifying glass
eyeglasses heavy on his nose
covering innocent eyes that saw
an awkward young girl in need of hope
and someone’s notice.
He spoke to her in musical words
like strings and sound boards, tuners, and horn bells
and the best language of all, born of unaffected innocence of observation…
the language of the heart.
©photo and poem by caf
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
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
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
