The Passing

wind 2
The Passing

Some believe that when a soul passes
it’s leaving arouses the air
dragging the clouds to new places
and the snow to unknown meadows and forests.

We can’t catch the wind
nor can we follow it closely
or even discern it’s path.
But we can feel it’s movement on our cheeks
and in our hair
as it glides around us and rouses our skin.

We can’t see the breeze that shakes the house
or rattles the chimes
But I like to think it is the movement of Spirit
dancing in the world.
And we can know that it is this windy frolic of Spirit
that brings Life to the Earth
and Breath to our days.

~ CAF ~
© photo and poem by caf

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The Closet

closet

The Magic Closet

She emptied her closet
the shirts and the pants
the blues and greens
the browns, blacks, reds and greens
She dusted the shelves
swept the floor
closed the door on emptiness

But then when later she passed by the door
she saw it open and bulging
with more things
stories in clothing
shoes filled with poetry
coats billowing
filled with memories

Life keeps her closet full
and may it be so while she lives
a bottomless source of fables, tales and metaphor
waiting to be heard.

by caf

Photo and Poem © Carole Fults

The Day Fear Slept

Rainbow

One day Fear relaxed for a moment
let go
fell asleep
and dreamed of
peace
and hope.

When Fear awoke
she was changed forever
into a multi colored river
uniting all the earth
and her new name was Love.

by caf

©photo and poem by Carole Fults

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

Today I Came Looking

light1Today I Came Looking

Today I came to this woods looking for a poem
and this is what I found….

In the distance, in the trees
a luminescent wave of foggy sunlight is piercing everything,
delivering the energy of Life,
the love of God.

A bird floats back and forth and becomes transparent –
a foggy lamination playing in white and yellow currents
riding on the exhalation
of the breath of God.

I won’t hurry too quickly from this place.
I won’t say ‘I’ll be back tomorrow’,
For this light,this particular tantalizing light
is the face of Holiness.

by caf

©photo and poem by Carole A Fults

Fog and Shadow

 

foggy morning

Fog and Shadow

This morning her drowsy heart throws off its covers
as she runs to the window and sees the thick fog
softening the edges of vapor filled light and shadow.
Blurry air conceals a presence not quite seen.

Misty mystery encircles large trees
home for familiars.
Secrets and adventures expect discovery
within the soft dimly lighted air.

Voices of the air – geese, ravens –
pierce the shadows covering the entrance to the otherwhere.
Cloaked prophets call from shrouded zones
bearing witness to what lives in hidden spaces.

Who can see through fog?
Who can arouse the oracle living in the filmy veil of shadow?
Whose face is that glowing and elusive?
Who murmurs in light and deep tones?

She moves into the dark side of the vapors
sliding between worlds
to the place where fog and shadow
sing to the clear light,
to magic,
to enchantment,
to the potential of embryos sprouting in the darkness,
to the birth of fire.

Lingering, listening, leaving
before she can hear the whole truth of unseen worlds,
she longs for the shadow, the unknowable, the impenetrable,
the center of the labyrinth.

The place where God creates and angels are still.

by caf

©photo and poem by caf

Summoned

bear

Many thanks to Carol Coogan for allowing me to use her collage for this posting.

              Summoned

She has been called by the stars
so she has come without resistance.

As she stands by the tracks
with a warm coat
and a backpack
She looks to the night sky
for the source of the whispers
that lure her on
to her greatest quest
her most wondrous adventure
her best vision
her deepest union
with her truest destiny.

The summons her soul has been waiting for,
In this moment, the journey to her own heart begins.

by caf

© collage by Carol Coogan
© poem by Carole Fults