The way you travel
on the time bound planet,
to follow or not
the deeply rutted road
or find yourself
in a dark wooded valley
unknown to everyone
but yourself.
When stripped down
to marrow and bone,
the only resource
what you harvest
from within,
stay with the river,
wear down your boots;
remember freedom
is not for the weak
or easily frightened.
That cabin in the far clearing
with smoke from the chimney,
keep walking pilgrim,
it may be yours.

I haven’t turned
with the trees,
holding back
against cold air
and blanketing clouds.
Not wanting winter rest
nor root darkness
I struggle for light
as the sun moves south
before the rain
and darkened cave.
Holding on,
yet knowing
I will follow
the path of gold
to the waiting earth.

Day and night begin to balance
in the slow turn to autumn;
hints of yellow and gold,
fog on the water,
sunlight dimming.
I go toward the dark
ready to release
and find again the roots
that feed the world unseen.
Earth has spread her leaves
in the great dance of summer
and now the rhythm changes,
a lower octave begins to sound.
I have shaped and made
what I could of clay and light;
soon the rains will come
filling the rivers,
blanketing the mountains,
winter to teach
once more of origin.
Gracefully the leaves will fall,
quietly come the darkness.

Night slowly retreats
as moon and stars set
while in the east light shines
through a hole in the clouds.
Time is on the march
or so we’ve thought;
behind the ticking clocks
imagination fuels the way,
crushing each gate of limitation,
laughing at the notions
of heaven afar.
Heaven is kindness
waiting like a river
for us to join and flow
through the canyons
of time and place,
returning once more
the human blessing.
If we visit distant worlds,
seeking something
far and away
they who live
in the vast brilliance
will only smile
and ask what we have made
of garden Earth,
how we have tended
our home among the stars.