No tears this morning,
no wonderings
like fallen leaves,
only a delicate sense
whole and alive
in the cool air
as smoke clears
and fires dampen.
We ride the tides
of pulse and change,
yet there is harbor,
a peace that rests
in silent earth,
within each wave,
to hold gently
what may come
and with grace
release the bones
buried and past.
We were here
when first lines
were drawn,
and now a new draft
traced on the horizon
as we behold once more
the birth of a dream
born in the eyes
of the eternal.

Sunlight filters through late summer trees,
the dry earth brown as a doe.
A bird calls in the distance,
the soft buzz of life in the wood
where roots descend to moisture.
Nootka roses glow in green,
seals calf their young
and the earth slow breathes
as the August moon approaches.
There’s haze on the distant mountains
but the sea air is clear, tide ebbing south.
Far away the noise, the hustle,
the need for pace and movement.
What is empty to the hungry is full,
what is silent, rich with knowing.
Nowhere to some, now here to others,
weighted like stone, light as bird wing,
sinking with tree roots deep into the earth.

Trees reach up
to the starlit wheel,
speaking to distant worlds
from the solitude of Earth.
Our loneliness, our fears,
our faith in new life
born upon the open sea,
from the parched ground.
The stars speak back,
brilliant in the night sky,
of communion and distance
with the intensity of light.
Down to the root
their language travels,
of the separation
and future yet to come.
Above the canopy
distance closes.
Owl is witness,
those abroad in darkness,
and quietly they continue
while we sleep.

Here in the presence
morning light speaks
on a soft breeze
through the open window –
we are one life, connected
as the leaves of the plum tree,
thankful to the root.