Tag: Nature

Springing

~ Deb ~ 1 Comment

First the daffodils.

Then the tulips.  Red, yellow, pink. 

Lettuce is crisping in the cool morning air.

The cucumber magnolia sends out tiny shoots at the end of each branch.

The sycamores will make a late grand entrance, but until then there are the oaks, hackberries, and redbuds getting back to business. 

The cedar and cyprus have held a green vigil through the dark death of winter, but now they catch the fever and dance a little perkier in the breeze. 

The pine will start new quills to write the lovesongs of robins and chickadees, bluejays and cardinals.

Lavender, oregano, and mint are suddenly alive again.  

Rosemary dresses up and puts on her perfume. 

Hyacinths are bursting blue.  

 

The wheel will turn and spring will

become summer

become fall

become winter.

          But today is spring,

And I am bursting blue.

Dirt-Worshipping Tree-Hugger

~ Deb ~ 2 Comments

Every day, priests minutely examine the Dharma

And endlessly change complicated sutras.

Before doing that, though, they should learn how to read the love letters

     sent by the wind and the rain, the snow and the moon.

                                                               — Ikkyu

You may freely replace priests with ministers, rabbis, imams, gurus, or televangelists.

You may freely replace Dharma with Bible, Torah, Koran, or Bhagavad Gita.

You may freely replace sutras with commandments, verses, visions, prophesies, judgements or any other claim to know the mind and will of the universe.

Or you may just replace all the words ever known with those love letters from nature and be at peace.

Meditation on a Rose

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

I watch you.

So long that I forget about time.

So intently that I forget about space.

I watch you until I forget what you are called.

 

Eventually, I am no longer watching you.  

A watcher is separate, and I have become

the suede of your petals,

the sinew of your stalk,

the sting of your thorn,

the essence of your fragrance,

the photosynthesis of your leaves.

 

For a moment longer than time and

smaller than a split atom

you and I are one.

Places Where I’ve Met God

~ Deb ~ Leave a comment

This is day six in the Seven Solid Days of Smiling Salute To the Original Unsplit Atom for bursting forth into the Big Bang of Bounty that is this life.

Day 1 – Emily

Day 2 – Music

Day 3 – Magic

Day 4 – Cheese

Day 5 – Sleep

A late afternoon winter sky when the impending darkness could either be the muted setting sun behind low clouds or an approaching storm.

Sunset at Sedona with the red rocks rimming the canyon becoming animate in the last reflections of light from just another day in just another millenium.

The forever wetness of the rocks and leaves along the rivers of the Smoky Mountains where the fairies live.

Waves the size of buildings exploding on the lava rock shore of the Big Island.

Snow sloping to the gutters on a Michigan morning.

Rain as steady as a drum and playing encores all day long.

This happy little valley I call home, where I marvel at the continuous life-cycle of leaves, and burn brush on a winter afternoon, and drink the wine of communion with the hickories and oaks and maples, and walk out to feed the dogs on cold, rainy mornings, stand close by while they eat in huge gulps, and then walk back to the gate with one on each side, licking my hands.

One last taste or gratitude.  I can never tell.