Leave and Take Wing

I reach into the dark for these few words,
humble before the memory
of what we were given.
Now as the leaves of summer
stir in the morning breeze
I recall the soft wet earth
and the rising we once knew.
Hummingbirds green and gold appear,
tracks of deer cross the commons,
in the deep folds of the creek
the sound of insects and young life.
Something will come from the buried ash,
a new birth under clearing skies.
I leave the old garden and take wing
with the bright colored birds,
the gifts and the time of their giving
recorded and left in the ground
to feed what is yet to be born.



photograph by Louis MacKenzie


6 Responses to “Leave and Take Wing”

  1. Tony Palombo says:

    You paint a vivid picture of the ongoing cycles
    of life’s creative process. Beautiful. Thank you Don.

  2. Jack and Brenda says:

    In the sanctuary of our home, each Sunday morning now once again has its ritual. To share your words, and to listen to Maryliz’s latest musical post, we take flight, born of a new day.
    Such an utterly sweet sense of surrender, tender love, and release. Take wing… all is held, and safe. Buried ash often brings a rush of verdant green, evidenced on our hillsides ravaged by fire not long ago.

  3. Patrick Fitzsimmons says:

    Just beautiful, thanks Don. We were up at Crater Lake yesterday, the deepest, bluest lake in the world. The 5000 foot crown of the mountain blew off hundreds of years ago and look what was left behind………….

  4. Leaving the old garden and taking wing…what a wonderful prescription!

  5. Maria Frid says:

    I celebrate the new! I cherish these loving words, Don, thank you!

  6. David Barnes says:

    Don, another wonderful poem, which blazes a trail to follow in darkness and in light. The opening phrase is strong and while I don’t stop there, I find that it emphasizes something that happens all the time in me, like right now: “I reach into the dark for these few words, humble…” And then always the rest follows with generosity and grace: “A new birth under clearing skies…” As I keep walking and watching, always there are the leavings, “to feed what is yet to be born.” Always there are the ways and the means left for others to move forth. Such is the gift that this poem represents – a living legacy and an inheritance. Thank you, once again.

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