The stretch of grass
Once lush and green
is now stunted
Another bright summer
has past and the
has been plucked out.
The earth’s gifts
enjoyed by both
young and old.
hungrily gobbled up
And now the ground
is bare, colorless
Still with no life.
In spring the
new sprout shows there is
No death, no end
Just a new beginning.
An opportunity to embark
On a journey of inner knowing,
Inner peace, inner stillness.
Uttering hints at what may come to be.
Inspired by Walt Whitman “A Child Said, What is the Grass?”
When I open the window to love,
I let in more than just
fresh air or a better view.
There is love in the air.
A love of autumn
Bright, true colors shine through
Surrounded by the abundance of harvest.
Juicy apples and round pumpkins
to delight with flavor and
The aromas, the sights, the sounds
of squirrels skittering and kicking
up brush, a treasure in its mouth.
It is survival instinct
to save for a cold winter's day.
I take a mental note and
decide to write what I'm grateful for
to reread for myself on a hard, cold day.
The harvest full moon rose last night
and I watched it take its usual
path across the night's sky.
In my mind's eye,
I am looking at its face
as it kisses me across the cheek.
Such wisdom and stories it holds.
the quintessential fruit of summer.
On the brink of harvest
in the heat of morning sun.
They sit patiently
Do I accept the invitation?
There is nothing like fresh fruit
the burst of flavor on my tongue.
The dark stained hands
from the fleshy bells.
On my chin and darkened my tongue.
The fruit is not forbidden
or only for the chosen few.
Only to those who happen to
look up at the sky
that there’s more than
meets the ordinary eye.
There is some effort.
I must confess.
Before you can savor the
reward of your labors.
It takes the body to the edge
just beyond reach.
With added vigor and strength,
I can reach what I desire.
It is now in my grasp
and my body relaxes and breathes.
Sighing as I place the dark bell into my mouth.
Yes, I’ll save some for later
and share the bounty.
But right now this is just for me.
This delicious reverie is mine to savor.
So I do.
Not caught up in agendas, past stories or future thinking.
Just the blackberries
The offering and
Me the willing recipient.
And I am filled with awe and gratitude
for the fresh delectable flesh.
I touch the tree’s bark
and look up in the branches.
There is more than enough for everyone. For the birds, the insects, the squirrels and me.
All sharing a Thanksgiving feast.
The tree accepts all and turns away none.
Is generous and sharing to all who visit her
and enjoying her gift in her presence is the true gift.