Lament at Mabon
Once I knew the language of trees How each rustling of their leaves Could mean so much—if only one knew how to listen. Once I had so much definition in just that one thing: That…
Once I knew the language of trees How each rustling of their leaves Could mean so much—if only one knew how to listen. Once I had so much definition in just that one thing: That…
You’ve heard us your whole life That raspy whispering from the trees that beckons and tells you You’re one of us… You were afraid once The unknown darkness overwhelmed you Above all sense of truth…
Now that summer’s coming nearer, My blood does quicken in its pace And never has life, to me, seemed dearer. Ne’er have I felt my heart race – The way it does for hawthorn blooms…
The sun bows As paint vibrates across the canvas Creating a golden replication Of its splendor The sun bows Thanking the pale and steady hand That created That honors Its gold, life-giving light The artist’s…
Little figure in the bark Whisper to me Like the rustle Of leaves in the wind… Eyes of the tree Speak unto me Of all the many Lifetimes you’ve lived… Your deep, Secret wisdom Can…
The leaves above me rustle and whisper, glints of golden sunlight filtering through an opulent canopy of orange and gold. Now and then, a creature scurries by in the undergrowth and fallen leaves.…
It seems that, while last semester’s coursework and circumstances brought me to think a lot about the notion of home and identity, this year is, instead, placing a focus on story telling. It could, perhaps,…
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