A Morning Walk

Detail in yard near park.

Pictures taken at Crystal Springs Rhododendron Garden, Portland, Oregon
Music: Dancing with the Swans by: Sagnik and Krishnaroop
from the album "Ethereal Lounge" http://www.jamendo.com/en/album/92226

What is yesterday
                 but a fleck of dust,
                           blown in the wind,
          and soon forgotten
after leaving a footprint
                 in the shifting sands . .

What is today . . .
             as I sit by a lake
filled with spring waters. . .
               I watch
the curious ducks float by,
                  sparks dribbling
from their bills
             I hear
                    the cargo train
passing through on the other side
            of the green . . .
his voice is humming
                     with the day's burdens . .

The water tumbling,
              down the cliff,
                      leaps and shines with
white glee,
          sparkling with expectations. . .
                     for it is new
                             with birth
               and not yet settled
and still 
                like the pond below . . .
                           scummy and wrinkled
         with a life lived
                      and a collection of detritus. . .
old feathers . . . dead leaves . . . 
          the unknown, and filled with
                     algae and green slime
     so that
           the geese are happy
                 to feast there . . .

The old tree stump
                 in the middle of the lake
        is a harvest of green
                      and reflections,
                                  perhaps ancient memories . . .
                   and rooted deeply
             in the sands
             of experience
still making
             an offering to life
                     on the alter of death . .

There is abundant water on this earth

                   a huge burst
                        of elixir
                             the manna of life
                                              an         expectation
              of beauty, evident
                             to the furthest reaches
of space. . .
a glowing blue planet
of promise
and love . . .
 




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Judgement

Portland

who are we to judge

the quality of your creation . . 
you tried your very best,
tearing into the experiences 

of your inner soul. . .
digging deep into your heart . .
finding the pieces to build something
to share
with the rest of us . . .
to give as a gift . . . . a balm for our wounds
. . . to heal us,
and to say . ..  "I understand . . .
I have seen the eternal fires . . .

I have climbed those broken mountains,

I have touched the dragon's tooth,

I have tasted the tears of angels,

I have heard the song of the silent . . .

I have been there
and back . . ."

the nascence of your dreams,
like the visions of the gods,
is tender and easily bruised . . .

who are we to judge
your fragile child . . .
as if it were the bleeding refuse of
your imagination . . .
disregarded by our inability
to hear the pleading in your voice . ..
"hear me -
oh hear my cry .  .
the crimson patterns of
my spilled blood
stain the very foundations
of my creations . .. "

We see those weeping patterns
and read them .  . as they drip from your offspring
. . . an ocean of tears . . wept . . .  and storm tossed . ..
mixed with war and love . ..  

death and life . . .

and the filthy mud of our humanity . . .
cemented together and formed

into
an angel arising from that rough material,

and
flying above the maelstrom
to lift us higher . .  into the circle of your arms . . 

where our hearts

melt into yours . . 

and we become one

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Royalty-free music for professional licensing

Portland