Chitter and chatter
as they climb the bared
stud and wood walls
up and up toward the
dormer windows
Where did they come from?
Are they in the same colony
or dueling ant armies?
I did not expect to see so many
in my brand-new shed
my sanctuary
my space to just breathe
and be
to create, to move
to meditate and chant
I did not think I
would be the one
wiping out the ant armies
armed with insect spray
I rain down on them
They stop in their tracks
It is all quiet now
finally
Tag: quiet
The mockingbird
The mockingbird laughs outside
on a tall branch of the tree.
It brings the joy
and the reminder
that laughter heals.
It is good medicine
to lighten up
to be lighthearted.
It makes all the moments
of the day
just that more precious.
To hear the mockingbird,
I am reminded of all
my bird visitors I have
come to know
just by being still enough
Quiet enough
to recognize their unique markings
knowing that I too am my own
unique expression.
The World Makes Its Own Kind of Music
the song of the bird
the song of the whale
the drumming of raindrops
the howling wind outside
a whirlwind of brown dead leaves rustle.
All symphony.
Even the ear-piercing airplane engines
as they prepare to take flight.
Even the neighbor’s loud, barking dog
that seems to holler out at hourly intervals.
All the world is filled with music.
When all is quiet and the earth seems to be asleep,
my heart leaps into rhythm and drum
– beat after beat –
A constant companion.
I, too, am an instrument.
I can clap, tap or snap.
And when I hum or sing,
a choir of bells arises in my throat.
Music fills the silence.
The steady quiet breath,
a yawn – even a sneeze –
all longing to be a part of that glorious symphony.
The quiet stillness of winter
The quiet stillness of winter
that silent falling snow brings.
Its white beauty leaves a mark
on all it touches.
I am warm here
inside under blankets and layers.
The heater spurts hot air
to keep me snug and cozy.
The squirrels move in bursts
fits of flight and fancy
Gathering what they can
to survive another day.
I marvel at the young ones
who have a playful spirit
among the game of survival.
The snow falls onto them.
They seem not to notice
the snowflake kissing its cheek.
I find my own sense of joy
in the slow quiet gray.
A warm mug in my hands,
and soon a pen appears.
It scrawls across the paper now.
We are all connected.
Even the shelter, the comfort
a façade for what is true.
This day is a gift.
Our bodies roll and turn.
We stretch our muscles and our limits.
Limitless ground sprawls to the horizon.
The nameless critters
and those with wings
take flight
a dark mark across a gray white sky.
Snow floating down
quiet and blanketed.
The Earth sleeps and I
find comfort in nature‘s ever changing beauty.
Mine for the taking
as our bodies merge into one
green and blue globe.
We aren’t that different
sheltered and warm
a facade for what is true.
This day is a gift.
Waning Crescent
Our eyes met.
It was the waning crescent
and her bright star companion.
No words were exchanged.
Just a silent greeting
and a reflection of light.
Distance has no bearing
in our quiet reunion.
We share the same sun after all.
Outside the Door
I cannot see what lies Outside the door When I am safe behind it. I hear voices Loud and bold. Are they broad and jubilant? Are they escalating to laughter or to an argument? A voice raises an octave. The speed of speech quickens. I am nervous and unsure. Do I look and see who is Outside the door? I work in a courthouse. It’s filled with lawyers, defendants and civilians. It’s a rotating door of comings and goings. The clicking of high heels Echo down the hall Until they disappear Around the corner. The walls in my office Are not as thick as One would think. Concrete is not a great insulator Against the reverberant noise. When all is quiet, I hear the tick-tock of the clock High up on the wall. It looks down A bird’s eye view. In the beginning, I had the best office with two huge windows overlooking College Hill. Always the sound of cars, of construction, of landscapers, Even voices of those below Peppered my days. Now I’ve been moved to a more active part of the courthouse. With a small window Overlooking the quad. It is grey no matter the season. The rays of sun Hardly get to seep down Into the square space. Noise permeates outside my door. It is a good thing. Quiet days tend to extend into A very long work day And I am counting the hours Until I can get outside. I crave solitude. At times, I crave The silence. The world is not A quiet place.
FAITH
I circle around the sun Even though physically I have stayed and slept Within the same walls. It may appear to all my senses That I embody the same place Time and again. However, the sky tells a different story. In winter, the sun rises a bit more To the right in the eastern sky. Yes, daylight is short. But the minutes of sunshine Tack on to the days Even if I’m not paying attention. The world is quiet now. There is less bird song. Yet if I get quiet And listen, I can hear what the winter bird sings. I circle around the sun And have faith that Day will return After a long wintery night. I have faith that the season will change As it always does And is meant to. Further evidence that the journey Around the sun is Always in motion Never stagnant Never ceasing to surprise And delight. The momentum forward Is not always linear. But I have faith That I play a part In the great bird song today And the song that is not yet sung But is written on a paper airplane Caught in a breeze On its way To be heard and sung.
Healing Insights 