Waters grey as the skies close
and the first breath of autumn
enters from the south
with light wind and cool air;
gulls speak to the change,
crying awake to the stirring sea,
tall fir and madronne
gathering the signal
to descend and let go
as the fire begins to light,
the rush of color
deepening the music
of autumn on the wind.

The old man’s shell cracks
thick as a tombstone,
hard as walnut,
hungry for the green wave.
With tears of desire
his white arms reach,
uncoiling, irresistible,
speaking in tongues,
searching for God.

Old stones fall
from weather and age,
the call of the earth
drawing them down
after long standing.
Vines reach up
to soften their decline
in the healing descent.
Don’t judge why they stood
or their reasons for going,
they carried the weight
until they could no more.
Look for what rises
from the depth of the earth
searching toward starlight
from the sentient root.

Kathy Fell

Nowhere to go,
no time to get there,
only here and now
and the bright light of morning.
Who we are rises
like islands in the sea
to comb the grasslands
and dance with the animals,
lightning on our fingertips,
kindness in our eyes.

Three generations

Let go of time;
how can you travel
with the weight
of such memory?
Night sky opens
to infinite fire,
the sea a depth
beyond measure.
The voice of soul
calls like an owl –
nothing is written!
Sea lion breeches,
drawing cavernous breath
then back to the deep,
below only darkness.

Clouds to the north

Outside
the roar,
frantic movement
of the hive;
within
breath slows,
making space
for the unseen.

Waldron Sunrise