Light unto Light

He wasn't there

until he was.

 He moved through the woods

from light unto light

shedding dark and

releasing it and

embracing it.

Swirl

I was captured today

in a gentle storm of leaping leaves

falling, showering, drizzling

around and upon and throughout me

Enveloping me like grace

like love

like dirt,

like sky
like I don't know who and
I don't know why

like a great symphony

swelling, flowing, growing

in deep crimson harmony

and with each spin

each rotation of autumnal bliss

I was delivered,

washed clean

baptised with a hickory kiss

spun gold salvation in a

sweet soaring swirl

landing on my head

on my shoulder and legs,

It made me twist, it made me twirl

right along with that

riotous laugh of leaves

and I danced holy ghost joy

on the sidewalk and all down the

wide-eyed street

"Glory Hallelujah!"

I raised my voice on high

I raised my hands

I raised my song

I raised my Self to fly

I was captured, today,

brainwashed and then set free

free to let go and live and leap

and die like those

soaring, spinning, gracious, grinning

falling-down-on-my-knees-in-prayer

leaves.

Hallelujah. Amen.

The Deep Brown Leaves of Autumn

I have always loved 
the bright and glorious 
colors and aromas
of our Kentucky autumns.

I love them, still.

But I've grown to appreciate all the

imperfect and worn browns
and leather
and mahogany leaves,
all the dried fallow
and empty acorn

that fill the woods and fields

without all the fanfare of

the beautiful reds and golds

that Autumn brings.

The well-worn lines and veins
of old leaves

tempered and burned in 

shades of bronze

have a depth and weight

that is tangible and abiding.

The deep brown leaves of Autumn

sear the memories of the year

and linger with a crisp sobriety

long after the golden

and ruby leaves have fallen and faded.

A Leaf Upon a Tree

I was, for a moment,

a leaf upon a tree

and the leaf, for a moment,

was me...

I billowed most glorious

in a soft autumn wind

and the leaf, for her part
sipped hot tea

On the Smell of Leaves

I gave my stamp of approval 
to the leaf
set her down
and moved on to the next

...I wish I could write the aroma
of a good fall leaf.

Better yet, if I could tell

the smell

of a hill

of freshly raked leaves.

Golden brown

earthen scent

fresh baked from each tree.

Rich, yet simple,

oak, yet maple,

hardy antique wooden smell

of childhood memories.

Full of life escaping

as they collectively breathe their last

sweet breath

to the ground below.

It's the bread of the season

that smooth

Grandfather autumn smell.

Wet Weather Hikes

The rain was drizzling down to nothing 

as we pulled up to the farm... 

this, on a day that promised nothing

 but gray skies and downpours. 

The sun was even making a 

goodwill effort to 

poke through the clouds and so, 

with no guarantees, 

we took a wet weather hike.

This hike was especially magical and life-full. 

We saw four fresh, shiny-baptized box turtles 

(two very amorous ones) 

and many toads. 

We had butterflies flittering around us 

the whole way and 

saw two large pileated woodpeckers and 

heard and saw many other birds. 

 

The trees glowed green.

As we finished the dragonfly loop trail, 

the clouds returned and, 

shortly thereafter, 

so did the rain, 

as we raced back to the dry house.

I think wet weather hikes - 

just after or between storms - 

may be some of the best. 

There is a life that pours out of the ground 

like no other times.

She Dreamed

She dreamed of 

a rampaging river

ripping through the night sky

She dreamed of impossible

made practical

and doubtful

giving it a try

She dreamed of worlds clashing

and uniting

of day and and night

of digging deeper holes

of black and white

and all the colors, implied in between

She dreamed 

of magick and mastery

of fear and flight 

of hope and horror

despair and fright

but mostly

hope

Mostly

she dreamed of Hope

.

And then

she woke up

filled her cups with water

and took them 

to the river

and poured them deep within.