Old horse, pastured with sheep, grazes, stiff and slow. But: come dark - he thunders! Video link: http://bit.ly/1uWc1X7 ________________________
In the drowsy bee-time after lunch, three of us dozing under the slow fan: you, in my lap, and you, in the basket - and my love spread over both like a gossamer blanket, tucking you around with soft breaths and the ease of honeyed dreams.
Morning rains end, green cups liquid gems, geese lift off, dawn sighs and stretches.
I've been failing at meditation for a solid twenty years. Alright. I suspect it isn't possible to 'fail' at meditation, but I have walked away, frustrated, over and over again. Conversely, of course, that means I have come back 'to the mat' over and over again. Something in me has persisted in believing that there … Continue reading How I’ve failed at meditation
His bright voice swoops through bare branches, spreads across the grass, Woosh, and he sits on the wood fence head bold as a warning throat an unquenchable fire wings like an ambush Zooming across the garden to his brown-and-rose mate at the top of the stark old maple he proclaims the day's beginning.
When the cardinal called out - his song like drops of light spilling over a dawn field - I ran outside that first day of his voice as Spring's soft sun opened the heart of the brisk, grey winds I ran to answer him then stopped astonished at the tender, naked garden suddenly uncovered: after … Continue reading The Garden, Uncovered