Songbirds were singing
as light left the sky,
the day’s warmth lifted up
as the damp sea closed in
and I heard their different voices,
the songs they sang
back and forth between the trees.
Dark came on and they grew quiet,
setting up night camp
high in the green leaves.
The tide bottomed out,
clouds covered the sky
and swifts began to careen,
taking insects at dusk
while the music faded.
I don’t imagine the birds
were singing for me
yet I was glad
to hear their songs
while night slowly gathered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “While Night Slowly Gathered” with music by Norm Smookler

When the sun goes down
and the sky grows dark
the trees begin
their quiet conversation.
They picked up the thread
when the two legged
grew silent, each night
speaking to their neighbors
and sharing the news
of home and distance.
The language of the trees
ancient and soothing,
their melodious voices
bass-toned and resonant
with green life and birdsong.
I stand with them
in the night forest,
looking up to far-off light,
feeling the comfort
of the stars rooted
deep into the earth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of “Comfort of the Stars” with music by Bob Dylan

 

 

Mountain rivers flow
as sun warms the high country,
the valley full with fresh water.
Our deprivations reveal
everyday miracles,
the gift of life amidst contagion,
the voice of spirit despite the shouts
of loudspeaker and opinion.
Wings of birds shaped to the wind,
the curl of waves over rock
and how your heart only bends with trouble
then peers past stone walls to the earth beyond
rich with desire for spring planting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of Rich With Desire with music by Morten Lauridsen

 

It’s not too late to rise
though the sun
has travelled up in the sky,
the trees long awake,
birds fed and rivers running.
Years and years ago
an ancient people
travelled up the Colorado
from Pacific swells.
They made home in caves
throughout the watershed,
high above the rivers,
painting stories on stone
of sky gods and long journeys,
leaving their memory
for those who would follow.
What stories will we paint,
what history leave behind?
When the scales fall from our eyes
all will be infinite
the poet once foretold
and today we might see,
refusing the false,
turning away from idols.
Rising above the two
we can be as one
and find our place once more,
undivided and forgiven
in the inner garden of Eden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reading of Inner Garden with music by Bob Dylan

 

 

Sip down
into memory’s cup
sweetened by first light
and pale flowers
then turn to the voice
of the Rain Bringer,
the Sky Singer
who grace with melodies
the bright unknown.
Don’t refuse the morning
or betray the Ancient Ones
who see your face
one among many
calling you softly
into tomorrow.