Time Capsule

Aged and mellow
like the leaves of autumn,
the drift into sleep,
stooping shoulders
and faltering balance
speak of the body’s winter
with its blanket of cold,
grey fog on the rivers,
the stark outline of crows.
As the sun drops
deep into the south,
the shortened days
and long nights
lead me to the message
you left behind, buried
in the soft tissue of my body,
wanting me to remember
after the fires burned out
and the rain soaked ashes
dissolved into darkened loam.
With the pain and fury years gone by
like white rushing water,
the time capsule unpacks
the soft fur of your animal,
the forgotten touch of kindness
forming new words on the old stone
glimmering in the faded light.
The earth bowl of your altar
burnished and gold
glows as the incense sparks
and lifts into the winter sky,
free to go where the high winds go,
your memory kept safe
in the forest of my mind.

 

 

 

 


What the Earth Says

The winds of November
rake through the valley,
clearing the trembling trees,
whistling down chimneys,
lifting the rivers.
Geese will come soon
from the far north
to feed off the broad stubbled fields
as ice and snow climb down
from the high peaks.
The fog machine
continues its message –
stay busy and buy,
yet turning away
to what the earth says
will warm us if we listen
through the darkening winter.

 

 

glass sculpture by Linda Ethier

 


Knowing the Unbroken

Cut from whole cloth
the unbroken lives
beyond the clutch of madness,
the villains of time.
In these few moments
before we depart
with a soft final breath,
to labor toward wholeness
is our link to the stars.

 

 

 

encaustic art by Eilish Hynes