In grateful and loving memory of Dusky Moon i dreamed once the white mare ran along the forest edge unbound in a place that felt like home and i waited and i searched and i listened for that place until, full pregnant, i could wait no more and the dream faded. we built…
beyond reach of the noise of the rushing world and endless talk of the weather bracket fungus still glows on moss thick trunks amongst sway of branch and drip of leaf.
quiet among the dapples a breeze has come to sway the canopy and stir small birds into busy and chatter – while leaves, dangled spider-silk, twist lazily catching light.
at the heart of this moment is the space that sighs between leaf and light and air that hangs motionless before the wind turns towards us heavy with rain.
it is he who waits silent on forest edge – twitch of muscle under dapple tree light, horns curved like the sickle moon. there is no seeing him until on an exhale he lowers his head, looks at you as though he sees the galaxies within, shifts his weight to the other hoof and under…
if i pause a moment hard breath to the forest quiet untangle the brambles that are snagging my skin – pull my hair from the cat-thorn that begs me to wait – if i stop here a moment on this path barely marked by the feet of those who walked it before, will my heart…
all seeing and unseen, leopard walked our morning prayers – silent feet on the forest floor. all hearing and unheard, leopard walked our morning prayers – carried our words down deep forest paths where human feet might falter – tasted our words on that other wind where only truth might live.
he said in ethiopia every plant contains the power of god, the treasure of god, the blessing of god. he said when the wind moves the branches of a tree that someone planted that the tree is praying for them, praying for the long life of the one who planted. he said in ethiopia, for…
under a clear still sky the smell of night rain arrives on dampening air – and all that lives these drying days sip thirstily on evening cool and sigh their relief in trill and croak and call.
first call of spring did i expect perfection that first evening of spring when the red chested cuckoo called me outside to see the evening star in a salmon sky – clear and still horizon to hilled horizon where all but he held its breath while his song fell from the trees. second call…