Misty Mountain Tops

Sunlight streams through pearly cloud-cover

onto the misty mountain tops below,

their silhouettes like layers of ragged blue paper

on a giant watercolour collage.

The sky is clear as day:

empty and open as a day

with no to-do list…

Imagine, how divine,

to just be!

The light pours down

thick beams of blessing

proclaiming the presence

of the one who sustains our very being.

The mountains respond with a silent chorus:

“Glory, glory, glory,

How good it is to simply be!”

And on my lap the baby naps,

perfectly comfortable at 4000 feet in the air

cause Mamma is there,

and no other moment matters

but now.

Eternal Song

Have you stopped to listen to the evening birdsong?

The same song since you were a child…

this eternal song, performed over and over

against the mellow backdrop of the light blue sky.

The clouds are smudged with charcoal

but their edges glow.

Does it capture you? Hold your gaze up and out

to the peaceful grandeur of the reclining day?

Are you torn away from the endless hunt

down the dark halls of your brain

where you relentlessly seek childhood secrets

and broken pieces of yourself?

Deep in this maze of self-analysis

the batteries of your flashlight may run out.

There’s only so much you can understand

alone.

Look to the source of light and beauty.

Listen to that bird who trills again and again:

“Life’s good, very very good. Life’s good, very very good.”

Remember you are only a tiny piece

of creation and a recipient

of this gorgeous gift that is life.

Put anxious internal wanderings

and the pursuit of your own perfection

in their place.

Live and love your now.

Prairie Fire Under Snows

There is a flame the cold can’t quench

and so we joy-filled fill

this giant wooden teepee with song

We reach for the hand of one

whose wounded one reaches for ours

Sheltered in this house of God

by a cone of boards bound with nails

like a teepee sewn together

—holes through pierced skin—

protecting us from the winter storms

Like the people of Jerusalem we process with palms

but instead of hot sand the snow swirls around us

a soft spring snow

full of hope of future harvest

as the fire-golden wheat fields lie hidden

under the cold kiss of a blanket of snow

the way you lie hidden

the fire of your divinity

submerged in the wheat coloured wafer

we receive

We remember

We hope

We live in the shelter of his love

the humble king of glory

Twinkle

Wherein lies the greatness of man?

Is it in his capacity to make bombs?

To build rockets and race cars?

To speed through life and destroy?

Or is it rather in his ability

Despite these other abilities

To stop

Slow down

And give meaning to the smallest gesture

To caress the silken cheek of a flower

And see reflected in it

The face of his beloved

And the twinkling of God’s eyes?