Spring Snow

Snow at Raccoon Creek: photography by Noelle

Snow at Raccoon Creek: photography by Noelle

Snow on spring blossoms and turns the sky in shades of gray. The yellows and greens are gone today while slate and shake burrow beneath thick robes of white. Silence fills the afternoon where birds had been singing only yesterday. No mowers out for lawns and the garden gloves are in their buckets. Huddled in the house the quiet pulls up last year’s losses and leaves them in the compost for the flower beds yet to be turned. It should be a sadness that tugs in the silence, as my heart was hungry for the trail. Instead, in blankets of tartan red I absorb a last winter’s charm. In the dark afternoon blooms my peace.

Continent of Mud: Photo Poem 37

The story of mud: Photo by Noelle

A story in mud: Photo by Noelle

When I was young everything had to have order. I liked symmetry and balance. If there was a block of blue on the left, than there must be a block of blue on the right. A proper picture of my family home had a sun and green grass. Beauty was related to this curious and predictable pattern of things. I have left that land and wandered into a story of randomness and chaos. What completely lacks symmetry and order possesses the most exquisite beauty to me. A sense of inner balance discovered that clearly was lacking when my outer world was perfectly planned.

Mud over flowers. I am deeply happy here.

Egg Shells

Free Bing Photos

Free Bing Photos

Emptied egg shell
Pock-marked, hard exterior
Now cracked
Potency gone
Creepy membranes of
An old self
Cling

Crushed into earth
Proteins
Seep deep
Enlivening
Another seed
Waiting
And hungry
For energy

Transfer of life
One to another
Each new
Unique
But
Connected
In wholeness
And
Brokenness

Such is life
Such is death

Little Gem

Free Bing Photo

Free Bing Photo

“You exist in time, but you belong to eternity. You are a penetration of eternity into the world of time. You are deathless, living in a body of death. Your consciousness knows no death, no birth. It is only your body that is born and dies. But you are not aware of your consciousness. You are not conscious of your consciousness. And that is the whole art of meditation; Becoming conscious of consciousness itself.”

~ Osho

Cracks

Old limb: Photo by Noelle

Old limb: Photo by Noelle

In the cracks I find my depths
Dark wounds empty
Glimpses tween
Death and an old life
Lies a field of
Possibility
Waiting for
A Spring
Rain