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 the story
I tell myself about this world
and how I am to walk in it.
The story to be rewoven each year
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 upon 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
moving gracefully
into the depths
of God’s imagination.