Bordering the sea
mountains fold
in rounded loaves
to lay their feet
in the great stone bowl.
As the sea empties
with the pull of the tide
my thoughts follow
the receding water,
freeing up the deadwood
to sip upon the empty cup.
Ten thousand years pass;
salt air etches the stone,
grass rises with the courage of a lion
and I cast off, weightless
into the void of peace.
elegant expressing Don – being with the awe and wonder of mother ocean with the push and pull of emotion – to find that still small voice that lets go – absolutely of those things that bind me.
This is my kind of huge landscape poem!
To each one, we’ve not seen anything yet. For when we each pass over I love to imagine a whole new realm. Instead of oxygen, there perhaps we will breathe pneumaplasm for sustenance. But, we don’t know. I love the magic of not knowing. For now I abide with simple admiration of an ant colony, or a bee hive, a hearty tune that lets go….now….and now…and.
With your seeing and artistry of words, I feel our journeys with nature to be divinely translated. What a beautiful teacher in this movement of the moments. . . .Thank you Don!
Elegant, Don……evocative and forceful at the same time……
straight to my heart …