Again

napo2017button2

 

Day Thirty, the End

 

Mohter River.jpg

 

I call it big water, the ocean.

It was a year ago today I walked
near crow picking out his mussel lunch
along the bight. Sand and shell
placed gingerly inside my empty coffee cup,
my way to keep a part of him,
remember he was gone.

I discover in loss
the hole, like that black round
left by moon in night when she is new,
cannot return to full as we once were.
Hollowness must replenish slowly,
in new ways, just as moon waxes crescent.

. . .

A sand-hued box tied with gossamer ribbon,
color of the growing gibbous moon.
Inside a woman sings,
Mother River, running her
song, flowing to ocean,
reminds me of my
connection here to there,
big water.

. . .

She hands me a calcite globe,
heavy, creamy yellow
as if full of moon light.
A memory stone to place inside
the blackened cavity,
to remember, to hold
in comfort, to illumine
when all seems lost.

. . .

Today I stand under
waning moon, attempt
to grasp, hear again his laughter,
catch his smile flash where sadness rested.

. . .

Our loop around that hot
bright ball tempered with
night and glowing light
that comes and goes
and returns again,
the river that runs to
kiss ocean tide and flow
to sea once more,
a broken heart mended scarred,
a refitted life begins anew,
all the rhythm of our dance.

 

Author’s Note:

To C.J. and Michael and Lisa

Shake The Trees

napo2017button2

 

Day Twenty-Nine

 

Sky.jpg

 

I had to shake the trees.

It seemed almost cruel.
Broomstick in hand, under great canopies of new born
leaves frozen within a shell of unforgiving spring snow,
I heaved and hoisted and shook.

It was for their own good.

Fledgling limbs flexed, resilient in their youth.
Rigid arms now hung limp, uncompromising
casualties before my arrival.

I was liberator.

For more stately limbs, older, wiser, seasoned,
they held strong lifting in gratitude as I lightened
their load.

My shoulder hurt, but I persisted in my pursuit of
justice against accidental blow.

…then day itself warmed, a memento
of sun seeped through the gray veil
of my Colorado Beltane sky.

Maybe I didn’t need to play at being champion.
Or maybe I was consort.

I move through days weaving and zagging,
wondering which design is true, proper.

And then I walk myself back. I still myself within,
steel my perplexity and receive.

In the whist calm,
my interior depth,
in the cavern I have
carved out for you,
I attend. I see your spring dawn.

And I begin again.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Once again, today I take my prompt from an unusaly icy, snowy spring storm on this
before Beltane.

Patience

napo2017button2

 

Day Twenty-Eight

Snow Tree3.jpg

 

 

In spring flowers are to bloom,
buds to burst with life,
sun to warm ground
awakening that which slumbers.

Here snow aligns itself along
reaching limbs, arcing to ground
in acceptance of something that
cannot be controlled, bending in
accommodation, knowing softness
is cardinal and warmth retraces
its steps.

I pause for season to shift, for
sun or snow to answer. I bow
to you, and rest avowed
in transformation.

 

 

Author’s Note:

A spring snow and Beltane in our lovely and mischievious Colorado is my prompt today.

Pilgrim

I release to You all that is fear.napofeature3

I surrender my breath
to be filled with your life.

I still myself so I may hear
your heartbeat.

I settle within your compassion
to see others the way you see me.

I rest, held in your palms,
in the wideness of creation.

It is not my design, but yours.

May I let my wild being
flare in your fire, purified.

May I realize myself
in your presence.

May I walk my path side by side
knowing we are One.

May I heal in your sacred unfolding,
trust deeply, dance lightly,
revel with abandon.

May I lay down who I was,
and accept your Grace to become.

.

.

.

NaPoWriMo Day 30 The end.

As in all endings, there is always a new beginning.