Life’s layers

Life, our bodies, our experiences 

 Are composed of many layers: 

The surface, often fragile, transitory, 

Details lost in a fog of memory over time, 

And then the hard bone of things, 

That which solidifies into rigidity: 

Assumptions, principles, what will make us 

Take a stand, and then, beneath it all, 

The vulnerability at the heart that we protect, 

Scarred and wounded, yet still beating 

With warmth and possibility…

Rainy Day Thoughts

Waiting for an early morning ferry 

And watching through the rain 

As the cars and people gather 

For the journey that lies ahead 

I’m grateful for the sparks of light, 

Bright indicators, placed by some 

For the health and safety of others, 

Relics of a time when leaders understood 

The concept of the greater good 

And invested in a brighter, safer future for all…

Reciprocity

All nature understands the wisdom 

Of protecting and respecting one another: 

As the clouds shower the tree with rain, 

And the tree weaves its branches 

To frame the beauty of the clouds, 

Should we not nourish and protect 

Those who need what we have to share, 

And should we not give attribution and respect 

 To those who nourish and protect us in return? 

But instead there are those who would 

Demean and imprison the other 

And dismantle that which helps keep us alive.

The appeal of a path

What is it about paths 

That’s so appealing? 

The itch to follow to someplace new 

We haven’t yet explored? 

The sense that someone’s gone before 

And cared enough to clear the way for others? 

A longing to escape what has become 

Far too familiar? 

Or simple curiosity, a reluctance to ignore 

An invitation?

Or maybe it’s just easier

Than striking out on your own.. 

Isolation

Oh, to be a cabin in the woods, 

Sheltered by tall evergreens 

And feasting on a view of the water; 

Away from all the hurly burly 

Of injustice and political squabbles, 

Lies and confrontations, 

Pointless chatter and urban noise; 

The only sound the waves, and cries 

Of eagles, gulls, and the occasional croak 

Of seals…

The prism of preconceptions

Looking at this image, 

The way what’s a mountain above 

 Becomes a kind of claw in its reflection 

And the trees sharpen into knives in the water, 

I wonder if everything 

 We think we are observing 

 Is really just reflections, 

Seen through the prism 

Of our own assumptions and preconceptions.

Restoring my soul

There’s something so comforting 

About being away from the manmade world. 

To stand among the rocks and trees, 

To see how life can continue to thrive 

In inhospitable environments 

And roots can find their way to soil 

Despite tremendous obstacles 

Restores my soul and gives me hope.