Risks and opportunities

Standing here, 

Waiting to walk into an unpredictable future:

 Could be dark; Could be light; 

 Currently welcoming, but still unknown, 

And we’re just about to clamber over 

 That one last obstacle. 

Heart stop, and start again: 

What’s life but a series of choices, risks, 

And opportunities?

That time of year

Here it comes again, 

That time of year 

When the Fallen Ones lie, 

Blood-red upon the ground 

Until they fade to brown and blend 

 Into the grass and dirt on which they fell, 

Once green and lively, 

Once brilliant, now slowly obscured with time: 

Who then remembers those once famous, 

On everyone’s lips until 

 Loss rendered them invisible? 

The candidates and teachers we once loved 

Whose names no longer linger in our brains; 

The dates and friends that seem 

 To have now become, not “Wow!” 

 But “When?” And “Who?” 

All things and people pass with time, 

Yet still we ache to see the first one fall.

In stillness

In stillness, like the silver sea, 

We can reflect with ease 

 Upon whatever passes by 

Without engaging, being troubled, 

Or making waves to disturb the shores 

Of those around us.

Resistance

The old tree stands, 

Dark etched before the flame of sky,

 A sentry, bearing witness 

To erosion and the passing of the day, 

Clinging to cliff’s edge 

Even as its roots protrude, 

Exposed, through the sediment below; 

Determined — as are we — 

 To resist the tides that threaten to overwhelm.

The ripening

This, this, 

 Is the ripening season: 

What richness is coming to fruition in you? 

What wondrous new life is swelling forth, 

Ready to burst its seams and feed 

Not just your soul, but the world’s?

The goddess in the tree

To have lived so long; to have survived; 

To have carried so many burdens, and still 

Be so brim full of life — 

What character remains; what richness, 

And what beauty in the wrinkles and the lumps; 

What stories must lie, simmering 

Beneath this variegated surface! 

I bow before the wisdom 

Of the goddess, hidden in the tree.

At the threshold

Standing at the threshold 

 Of what was and what will be, 

We ache, and wonder: 

How will this play out? 

Not realizing that the answer lies 

Right here, this moment, now; 

That presence, or the lack thereof, 

Contains the promise buried in the future.