Tag Archives: nature
Reality and me have disagreements all the time. Reality is, by nature, inviolable. And a bit of an existential bully. I am, by illicit union, a child of fiction. And tender in the center. Reality and me don’t always see … Continue reading
On the day the Trickster died in vain Winter set in to consecrate its crucifix and initiate the changing of seasons.
She, full of secret pines, shadow-limbed beneath a pale disc of winter sun, waltzing solo in snow-caked hills, blood-red quill tucked behind her left ear, just in case the urge to climb spires and trace spheres via a fierce run … Continue reading
Birdless solitude, Winter’s song, slow, deep, solemn– Musing upon spring.
I was there, nameless gluttony of charged particles, when the dream-trees were felled by alabaster whorls of lightning. From the siege I salvaged a charred branch, which became my staff, my walking stick, and I began to wander in search … Continue reading
To walk in fields of blue lightning, to see with a child’s snow-driven eyes, is to receive awe and grace; the tasseled forks of God’s split tongues and blonde fuzzies coercing you to savor.
Crayfish, obsidian, antennaed, slick with frothy scum as you crawl up from the brackish rim of a forgotten pond, my heart recalls you as an ancient mystic, an oracle of medicine, who needs not license nor recognition to exact vital … Continue reading
Misty wandering, the lonely monk meets a tree– bowing, they shed tears.
Palette, to translate the soft sermons of flowers– verses minus words.
Limbs by autumn light, skeleton jig in the round– Curtain rises, falls.