I touch the Earth

through trees waving

in westerly winds,

clouds full of ocean

blanketing the valley,

an island of the palest blue

in the dark gray cover

a signal from above

to look beyond the overcast,

feet on the ground

shot through with heaven.

Cold winds blow in December,

fire flickering in the chimney draft

as I rethread slowly the unraveling myth

I tell myself about this world

and how I am to walk in it,

a tale I’ve taken apart many times,

removing beliefs that would not hold,

friendships given for a day,

a story to be rewoven each year,

dropped into the womb of winter

with faith in the new babe taking form,

unseen yet dimly felt, stirring

with the strength of earth,

knowing it will soon be born.

Rain cleanses the morning

with clouds from the Pacific

riding the vast arc of ocean wind,

falling on the earth

to the root of our faith,

soaking deep the dark

womb of renewal.

Her love rose and spilled

across her cheeks

witnessing the young seeker

in the mirror of her journey,

her elder wisdom opening

with tears for a caring spirit,

knowing she must be alone after all,

she and the earth in the long dark silence,

the light of her inner lamp flickering,

fragile, determined to continue.

Sirius visited last night

trailing the Pleiades

and Orion

awakening me

to a sacred manuscript

etched in darkness

of Earth alive

and moving so gracefully

into the depths

of God’s imagination.