Their back so strong
their peaks so high

with silhouettes that roll
as a tide,
of mountainous lushness
seated in the sun.

Aged and aging
they are,
yet there to withstand
the coils of time and reality
that shift as quickly as sand.

Protruding henceforth
into the sky,
as a hand reaching
unto our God
whose light dances in the heavens
as the sun,
as the stars,
and whose beauty is captured
through picturesque clouds
—with movement and form
that depict
an instance
of this magnificent
Creation
of His, of Hers.

The trees are whispering,
stirring in the breeze,
saying:
life is fluid, has motion,
and life can also be still.

At times the winds stir you
to feel out what will be done,
at other times
your held in silence
just to be and see what will become

as the light shines through your petals
and the breeze stirs your arm,
and all is held in grace within you
in that structure, that center,
that becomes
the still observer
of it all.

With arms outstretched towards the sun
All-Hallowed is his name,
the tree that took the time to look
beyond all hardship and pain.

His branches may have fallen
and his roots are so sore
from holding on so dearly
to Mother Earth's core,

but with arms protruding
and leaves that are falling
he gestures
towards the sun

through which he is remade.

Raindrops touch my page
with silent wonders,
washing away what has been known
so that the fruits of today can be born.

The raindrops, that touch my nose,
reach through the protruding skies
that rest upon a horizon that may never be
and is not needed,

for
all is found here
in a soul
that all the raindrops have washed clear.

The evergreen stands
with leafy greenness extending from each bow,

as other trees cast their golden leaves
swirling in the daily breeze.

The evergreen, rooted firmly to the earth,
is unchanging
aside from her growth
that continues on each stem
of her arms.

She sees the mountain,
that's also unchanging
apart from the winds of time
that may shift its surface structure,
but its essential form remains.

The other trees,
the grasses, the soil,
the flowers, lilacs and daisies,
all move with the tides of change
but their essence remains,
appearing again at winter's end
in the full brightness
of shooting stems,
fresh green leaves,
and fertile soil;

all add their beauty
to the impermanence of all things,
that brings to us many surprises,

yet,
like the evergreen,
some things stand
and remain
stable
in this
ever-changing world
—one of them being Love.

Billowing clouds sit upon the mountain's peak
with rays of golden light shining through the blue windows
of open skies,

and the sun illumines all that is beheld
in this open field of vision.

A sole leaf twirls amidst the branches,
then carried by the breeze to unknown worlds and destinations,

and grace fills the skies and touches the earth
with its magic
of the wonders of this day
and everyday
under the open skies
of life's renewal.

Golden leaves unravel
in tenderness
and through love.
They are held in the presence
of a love so strong
that beaded drops of falling rain
simply disperse from their shining structures
and fabric of being.

These leaves open,
coaxed forward in the brightness of the sun
and perfumed by the salt of the air
that preserves their beauty
and upholds their light.

There is a stream that fills all things; 
its fluid motion moves through all existence, all life.

It has a current, a motion, that flows 
through present moment
and then moves all energy into the past
—to attach our awareness in that place, 
goes against this energies natural course.

It is a natural stream and current 
that falls into our open heart and perception, 
from the purity of love, of Spirit.

The moment is likened to a pure clear pool 
from which we drink and savor,
with the presence of awareness.

But, once this stream of the moment leaves us 
it is subject to the muddied waters 
of conditioned thought and perception
—be this our own or others.

Without presence, to pure moment, 
this stream—and its contents—is subject to contamination.
It is subject to opinion, label, regret, or expectation
—for this stream is diluted by anticipation too.

The stream of pure consciousness can only be, 
as we also can only be.

We are called to be present with its fluid motion 
that reveals the truth of our heart, 
the clarity of perception,
and the sacred love of each thing 
that calls to us to touch it with our awareness.

Through its love we may see all, 
including ourselves, 
as we truly are, 
within this stream of love's momentary presence 
and the purity that brings.

In the wilderness, of the natural world,
your spirit soars
in the pureness and untouched beauty
of what you see, and feel.

Where the air is clear
and peace ensues
the soul can
drink from the essence
of what it once knew
in those realms of the Spirit
—where only
purity and light exist.

Summer roses bloom
in joy, in love, and the glory
of what is found in the fertile soil
of love's presence.

They are prevalent 
in the seasons of the sun,
and yet everlasting
once that which truly feeds them
has been found
in the soul and the Spirit.

Then, the summer roses
become eternal
in the endless summer
that exists
within
the light of God.