Altered visions

What we see outside will always be 

Affected by what’s inside: 

None of us have visions perfectly clear. 

The eyes may be windows of the soul, 

But what that soul’s experienced 

 Will always color what we see, 

And what we see will always mirror 

Certain preconceptions — 

Which doesn’t mean we cannot do our best 

To look past those reflections to the truth.

Waiting, watching

Waiting, watching, wary; 

Ready to run at the first sign of danger — 

When did the safety that was her home 

Begin to erode? Or am I just projecting?

 So many folks now seem to feel 

The world they knew is changing for the worse, 

Yet still the deer wander my yard, 

Nibbling on the grass and waiting; trusting 

 The winter-barren apple trees 

Will once again bear fruit.

Dancing in the wind

The fig tree dances in the wind 

Whether there’s a rainbow or not. 

Can we ever be that fully, delightfully ourselves 

No matter what the setting or the circumstances?

The shadowed path

Life’s a long and shadowed path, 

And though we dream of a boat to the other side 

The end may be just that: an end; 

No choice to sink or swim, but simply stop. 

So knowing that, what shall we carry with us 

That we’ll be willing to let go, 

And what would it be wiser to leave behind?

Balancing grief and hope

Whether that which you have built 

Slowly loses its vitality, 

Due to lack of maintenance 

Or is irrevocably harmed by a sudden event, 

It can prove challenging to look beyond the loss 

To the future that’s been opened 

By that unexpected vacancy. 

We grieve, of course, 

And quite possibly always will, and yet — 

We balance grief by remaining open 

To the possibilities that lie ahead.

In the spotlight

Yes, it can be lovely 

To be in the spotlight, 

But the light is always shifting, 

And not under your control. 

 Be grateful for those moments, 

But don’t mourn them when they’re gone: 

There’ll always be other opportunities to shine.

What fools

What fools be these, 

Grasping at the moon 

As if she could be contained, 

Perhaps delayed within their branches: 

She has her own appointed path and time, 

And lifts the waves and tides below— 

 No rooted boughs can stay her 

From her appointed rounds.