Fishing

heron

Fishing
One summer’s solstice
the blue heron
dropped from the sky
to stand in wakeful stillness
in the green scummed pond
by which I watched from the shore.

Her twiggy legs and intent stare
alert to burbles source below the surface
she moved only once sparingly
darted, speared her dinner
flash of silver
returned to watchful silence.

Finally, weary of my unrequested presence
she casually withdrew to the air
and in full self-possession of her strong winged strokes
she flew freely
to fish in waters
of greater solitude.

by caf

© photo and poem carole fults

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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

Morning on Pyramid Lake

mist on the lake
What good is a day?
What kind of day is it?
When loons on the lake wake you
calling your name in the early morn
after the Screech Owl kept you awake
all the long night before?

What good is a day?
What kind of day is it?
When the forest breeze
avoids disturbing the mist
gathered at the shore
and when you look closely
at the tree’s breath you see Beings
looking back at you
from milky air?

You want to follow them
but you also want breakfast
and – whispering – the visions tell you
that they have food
that will feed you
forever.

by caf

Photo and Poem © Carole Fults

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

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