And the sun said……
“You are sky and you are beautiful
You are trees, birds, soil
Your name is Water and Stone
Grasses speak in whispers when they hear your voice
Wind howls with anticipation of your approach
You are the maiden of darkness
wearing the wise moon on your head
and wrapped in magical starlight.
You are sky and you are beautiful.”
CAF
©Carole Fults photo and poem
A Perfect Storm
Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.
As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.
In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.
©Carole Fults photo and poem
Carrie
She was a lover of Yardley’s lavender soap
and purple double petunia’s
She washed floors in a blue house dress
laced with small flowers
and crocheted rugs from bailing twine
and plastic bread wrappers
I heard she had beautiful long brown hair
that inspired my grandfather to write her love letters
on birch bark
although by the time I knew her
her hair was short and gray
and she said auburn is the best hair color.
She played with children
beckoning them through the woods
to a magic circle of peace where she would walk,
her tall sturdy frame leading the way around the path,
and if you followed her, you knew you were safe.
Then one day in my pockets I found judgments about
her judging me.
Now, I ask, how many times have fear and judgment broken
the spell of love?
If there is a lesson here
it’s that I wish I had struggled
through the currents of white faced fear
to get to the other side
Just so I could have loved in time.
©Carole Fults
Watery wind battered our serene and wondrous landscape.
Fury, darkness, and destruction
were waged upon our bucolic home
as the world we had come to trust rose against us
and the lovely trees and friendly stones turned into weapons
and death came to our neighborhood through raging waters.
In the morning, in the quiet after the hurricane
a tiny buzzing like a bee outside the window,
a flash of a ruby throat
and neon body hovering in the air.
A hummingbird, all of an inch long,
appeared at the feeder,
his biggest need being for breakfast
and a quick trip to a neighboring Petunia blossom.
Where I wondered did he go for refuge in the storm?
How did he manage to live through the nightmare
that destroyed those much larger than himself?
And I think about the children who are battered,
deserted and denied –
where do they go for warmth and hope and loving hugs and safety?
They have, I hope, as does the hummingbird at my window
hearts born resilient
tempered in the fires of loss
and transformed by the power of truth.
©Carole Fults
Sun Salutation
Bending like the body of a Willow
her limbs sweep the ground
and loosely dangle
Till straight up like a Sunflower
she stretches to the sky
caresses the birds and sometimes the clouds
Then, body parallel to ground
she opens and opens
until twisted roots untangle and align with the earth
Fastening her eyes on the horizon
she sees the sky blush as it receives
the first kisses of light
The life of dark time recedes
as lightness returns
revealing secrets hidden, now glowing
in the freshness of dawn.
She feels the sun awaken
as all things stand and bow
as she stands and bows in awe
at the return of grace
and to honor the light that lives within in her own heart.
This is called Sun Salutation.
©Carole Fults
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
Periwinkle wild flowers
dying now
Drifting on the wind
a chickadee sings her winter song
Knowing I will also die
I listen.
©Carole Fults
Tree Pose
The forest owns her
the ground anchors her
she doesn’t resist.
Her legs and feet
are stumps and logs
welded to her trunk.
Her hair rises to the clouds
that circle her top
and her fingers turn to leaf buds
at the ends of moving branches.
Swaying midst the rhythmic clacking
of greenery dried brown
She begins to hum and move her branches
up and up and up
Rain patters onto the forest floor
and her soles suck it up and feed it
to her shaggy, barky body
as her toes curl into the loamy soil
growing down and down and down
turn to tendrils that root in the earth
and make a home there.
This is called Tree Pose
©Carole Fults
