Do the leaves hold on to the tree’s branches or is it the tree’s own doing when it comes to ultimately letting go? The leaves have completed their cycle. They were the first buds and sign of spring Opening into colorful blossoms. The blossoms became the green or dark hues Expressing the type of deciduous tree. All shapes and shades of green expanding toward the sky. Next there were the seeds. The future generation of trees were expelled down. Pinwheels of seeds helicoptered below The descent to bring forth descendants. Now that the seeds had done their work, The tree could finally show its true colors. The green transformed to bright oranges, reds and yellows. My oldest calls them the color of the setting sun. The strong autumn breezes help the trees Shed their leaves. And then they are bare, Ready to brace the cold of winter. No fragile blossoms to accidentally freeze. Just the tree and its roots Starkly standing in the white of snow. Forever patient. The cycle can’t be rushed or passed through Because it is nature’s own timing And the tree plays its part. The deciduous tree reminds me That all stages are important. One is not more special than the other. It is a seasonal reminder That life’s moments are brief. And there is beauty and a lesson to behold If I just take nature’s cue.
All the blooms have paid their visit. They fulfilled their roles to completion. Now green leaves of every hue remain on the branches. All the trees marinate and meld into just a tree Where the blooms easily identified the species. Now they are a forest of trees Indistinguishable to the undiscerning eye. One lone red maple stands out from the rest. Does the species of tree matter to the nesting bird Tending to their fragile, precious young? Maybe. Sturdy, tall, with camouflaged branches They call home. I call it nature’s greenery.
Nature’s symphony is at my door. All I have to do is listen. Each unique birdcall an instrument The dog bark the percussion. Small songbirds the flute. Each call a pattern, A song, a melody that makes up the whole. I am surrounded by sound. Pleasant, not pleasant My ears hear it all. What do you hear when you step outside? An occasional firework goes off even at this early morning hour. The time to celebrate is always in order. I listen and smile.
Where does inspiration come from? It can be a fleeting idea, A word or phrase that lights me up And I want to become the explorer of my own inner terrain. [The Sacred] It happens in solitude And when I’m out in nature. I feel most connected to The wisdom of my heart. Beauty always surrounds me, Even in the mundane and hard times. I just have to be willing And open to see it. When I connect to my heart and breath, I feel I am taking an active role in my life. I’m not getting carried away by the rushing tide of emotions and circumstance. In that moment, the magic happens. I no longer have to struggle. I can literally go with the flow. Again, I return to the explorer within, Who recognizes the difficulty in truly letting go With surrender and vulnerability. There is peace and ultimate freedom To find creative solutions, To take a beat before I react, And to connect to my inner wisdom. How does inspiration and the sacred come to you?
Deciduous trees start with a delicate beauty And end in vibrant hues again. The tree’s true colors are exposed. There is no holding back, conforming to standards or blending in. To spend the rest of your days in that beautiful authentic expression is something to behold and cherish. Unapologetic without concern of backlash. I celebrate the new blooms. They remind me of a fresh start And the excitement of something new. Fragile like the robin’s nest Sturdy and well made But too low to the ground. Not enough protection to promote healthy offspring. Life is all around us. The birds are learning too. They must feel loss. The robins lost their shelter, their home base. Is it too late to try again? Is nature a cruel teacher? Not so if it prevents future loss of life. We don’t punish the birds. It’s the nature of things. And death too is a part of that cycle Whether we like it or not. And we are a part of nature. It can never be removed No matter how urban and modern our surroundings. The pink blossoms are in their full glory And I am delighted.
The wild darling on the cusp of spring The crocus has found its way to the surface Having traveled over and over In the same track as its predecessors. The cold earth has found a softness, An opening. And the lush green breathes into me. The fragileness of new life. The sun breathes out energy. The seedlings desperately alchemize And rapidly transforms. Their ripe green petals mimicking grass Kiss and pepper the earth. I marvel at the emerald blades That try to camouflage into the lawn. They are hardy and make the perennial trip. They wake me from my winter slumber And remind me, even in the bitter harshness of cold and darkness, This too shall pass. And my heart leaps to join the beauty, To wear green and lie in the grass Warm to the touch from the golden sun. I touch the delicate petals And thank them for this yearly gentle reminder. A smile forms on my face. The mourning doves have returned this year. I wonder if the young couple will find a more hardier, sturdier nesting place. Nature is the greatest teacher.
I am a student of the Earth. I am in awe of her glory and ever-changing nature. The Earth provides Sustenance, life, beauty. There’s always an opportunity to tune in and learn. I watch the outside world from my window Warm and cozy indoors. Protected from the bitter cold Freezing rain and icy terrain. I know intuitively That the snow will eventually melt Like the ice caps on the mountains. This too shall pass. I am in tune to her nature. I live and breathe the lessons. I study her patterns and accept what is out of my control. My hands cup my warm mug of tea. I take a sip. The Earth is now in my cup. In the water, the plants, and herbs. I internalize her spirit and continue to be The ever-faithful pupil.
Nature is asleep. The barren trees A stark contrast Against the sky. What once blossomed A forgotten memory. What was jubilant And alive Now quiet, small and dark. I take the cue and Bring it inside. Even in winter I wish to bloom To continue to grow In mind and spirit To stay connected And tap into my inner And outer strength. The plant on my window sill Finds warmth and nourishment. The bird’s wing takes flight In search for what I know not. Its determined flight Beats into the sky. There is no respite When on the hunt. We hunt for Warmth and shelter. We hunt for understanding And being truly listened to And seen. We seek counsel And acceptance. In winter we take it inside. The nature of the season Demands it. And I take the cue and bloom.