
Rootward
Clouds lower, geese cry, rushing tide. Eagle flies, sky arrow, daylight wanes. Root descends, trees pulse, autumn falls. Soul settles, rain-soft earth, dark comfort.

Clouds lower, geese cry, rushing tide. Eagle flies, sky arrow, daylight wanes. Root descends, trees pulse, autumn falls. Soul settles, rain-soft earth, dark comfort.

The world unfolds, wind, tide, rain-soaked, life force streaming. Doors of imagination swing on ancient hinges, toward the presence of the Maker. No kneeling, no

Morning wind, white-capped waves. Autumn hues, brown and pale green, turning to earth, heart sprung open by wind and color.

At sunup, a line of geese feed on the ebbing sea, soaked in light. With each new day of God’s imagination woven with awe, I

Autumn drapes the coast with rain and heavy cloud. The yielding land, eased by cool air, drinks the sky’s soft blessing. I feel the rootward

Wind freshened, steeped in October rain, the dry land opens to autumn’s blessing. I search my soul for burdens I preserve, curses I repeat this

Ebbing seas weave between islands in stone valleys of ancient quiet; gnarled trees reach for light, stillness spreads on the rugged shore. I sip the

Before a wall of ancient stone, I place prayers in cracks of silence. As tears soften my calloused heart, I trace a portal, barred by

Sunlit summer morning, soft air, gentle winds, sea spread tablecloth-smooth. I breathe the air, absorb the healing light; with quiet heart given to silence, I’m

In the hours of first light, sky soft rose then sherbet orange, tide returns to the hollows; seals bark, otters quietly swim, gulls cry with

In the quiet hours between night and day, the earth turns to the coming dawn. First light ruffles the water, lying still beneath night’s blanket.

Cloud breaks reveal the moon as light spills across the water, rousing the quiet land. Old roots stir, ancient trees and stone canyons find their

The swelling windless tide eases into the cove, to quench the gravel beach in a slow languid laze. Seagrass barely stirs, even the crows are

(for Humphrey) Along the rugged shore broken faces of old stones, full of ancient records and passages of the sun. I hear their heartbeats in

First light breaks, winds rise to rustle the sea. The sun sings awake, and over the broad expanse life stirs its deep green bed, as