Leaving Treasure

Cockelshell.jpg

 

I seat an egg cockleshell
miles from it’s home,
where waves of grass abound
instead of water.

I deposit it lightly
where branch once protracted
from trunk rooted deeply underground.

“It’s a treasure,”
I whisper to my darling sister tree.
“Hold it safe for seeker to find.”

And I’ll return someday,
in hope to behold idle womb
as I confer a new wonder to tarry.

 

Petty Blues

Thunder snow rattles my senses
fragile flakes exit from angry clouds
weaving into pretentious city exhalation

On a day where sun was bright
and took its leave, winter’s chill
slid over mountain rim to prairie plain

Thunder breaking through gelid wisps
manifests
takes me off balance

A synoptic storm of power and gentleness
Eternal Purity and Lionheart Will
enfolds my existence into relinquishment

A remembrancer not to hold certain
or rest in piety
but sever the fetters of petty blues
and stand in awe of Divine Exposition

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Author’s Note:

Today it was 65 degrees in Denver in mid-December. Tomorrow the snow arrives.