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Monday, April 5, 2010

White Bird, Alone


The ancient ridge before me,
tumbled weeds beneath my feet.
Each step becomes an effort,
but I trudge on – ever upward -

to be met at the top with air,
sharp, cold, and piercing.
Cloud with rain showering my return;
Heaven’s tears mixed with my own.

The familiar bank, slope of sand,
and sea, endless sea.
Since time began its rhythm unchanged,
Swirl and crest, twist and return.

There asleep, rocking gently,
one white bird, alone.
Amid the churn and splash, he floats,
trusting in forces beyond his control.

I’m reminded that I am not lost,
for much sustains me, buoys me up;
I, like him, bob through life
with a star and a song.


(During the hard times in my life I seek the natural world, away from the busy-ness and noise of everyday living. There, everything is reduced to the basic elements and, if we allow them, our senses become sharpened and finely tuned. Listening for that small, still voice, I find solace, serenity, and strength there, if not always the answers I seek. Calmed, cleansed and refreshed, I become one with nature's ancient rhythms, and find it easier to deal with whatever comes next.)

1 comment:

  1. Oh, for a mountain ridge or ledge overlooking a churning sea... and white bird to calm the senses.

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