The Watcher at Wood Duck Pond

wood duck pond

The Watcher at Wood Duck Pond

One day hiking we came to Wood Duck Pond
and there we saw an older gentleman
sitting in a chair
eating his lunch and watching
just looking ….. and looking

He might have been a Buddha
He sat so still
But there were no ducks
on the pond
or in the air or on the shore.

He was gazing at the stumps and logs
and surface scum
unbothered by mosquitoes
or deer flies
or gnats.

Froth on the water
reeds growing by the edges
stumps rotting in the lagoon
and not a duck to be seen….
Didn’t bother him.

I asked him why he sat there.
He said he watched for ducks
and whatever else might come by
maybe a heron, “it doesn’t matter”.
He just sat and watched, looking.

Not wanting to disturb him further
we whispered good wishes for his watching
and walked quietly onto the wood’s path
where we saw butterflies and snake skins –
but still no ducks –
although I found myself also watching.

by caf
Photo and poem © carole fults

Mountain Lake With Crows

White Birch Lake

A lake on a mountain
open to the sky
………        (the lake has given calmness to the crater)
receiving what comes
rejecting nothing
………              (it is deep enough to hold all)
A feather falls in front
of the full moon
………    (a gift from the crows who call between the peaks)
Still waters receive its touch
and quiver
………       (a lover’s touch on quiet skin)
Clouds touch earth
as she lies next to the face of spirit.
………  (in the mist, the lover’s breath)

©photo and poem by caf

All the World is an Asana

Mayurasana (Peacock Pose)
Mayurasana (Peacock Pose)

             All the World is an Asana
We are petals on a flower practicing our yoga
This body is no longer strong or agile.
Dormancy has become her favorite posture
her light is not free but stored
She craves a change of asana.

Maples awaken in the distance with spring growth of swaying red buds
Birds and bugs fly and wiggle
stream currents flow
all moving beings in their unique
flowing, growing, flying and wiggling asanas.

Rocks still and sturdy in their unperturbed poses
the sun in fiery, shining warrior stance
and the moon in golden silent savasana –
They gaze at us and dream that all the world
has moved into the asana of loving.

by caf

© photo and poem by caf

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

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