Circle of Fire

  • Refuge (before July bombing)
phoebes

A symphony
of phoebe song 
a river of stone
blessed by rain….
 Beech leaves beckon,

 crystal waters soothe

Hemlocks hum
I am part of

all there is…



Powers that harm

live just next door.
Leaning into Presence 

I pray to
trees who mirror

back strength

 beyond my own.

Beneath words
Before words
(once my kind knew…)
 Forest is community
I am recovering lost language
becoming green enough
to sense and feel … 

 Woodland Peace.


 
The Library of the Earth
is a Living Story
waiting to be read
Forests pour
 honeyed senses

golden pollen

over any who listen
blocking

fear or stupidity.

(2) Circle of Fire  (after the bombing)

A circle of fire
returns us to mend what
was broken to begin with 
« People don’t change »
going back to repair
untrustworthy relationships 
built on deceit,

a willingness

to repeat old patterns
is an act

of stupidity.
Just to be
be seen?

Don’t light that Fire! 
Gray green needles

clear muddied mind…

I ask the forest 

“ What must I do?”
 “ Be Still “
Phoebe chimes in. 
“Be Still

Let Body lead.”
Trust Earth

and Hemlock

to Guide.

Little Deer

Is near.


A rich soil
of possibilities 
pulses light
illuminates
  unhallowed dark.
I’m still
oozing with confusion.
I must learn
the kind
of patience

Nature mirrors:
Expect nothing,

Love,
Live in Now.


Circle of Fire (3)

Bombs
Explosives
Splitting
Shattering cells
Mutilated
tender bodies
Trees, birds
Dogs and me
Green Heron too…
Ears and limbs
under assault
from those
who would
annihilate.
They must

 not win…


War bombs
drown out
The Voice of the
Forest who heals.

Do the trees recall

 fireworks
of yore?
Sparklers
that lit up
the night

raining

 flowery fountains –
Below 
a firefly
lit field

held bowls of water. 

  Glowworms.
And my dad
playing with
his children
while others 
looked on…
Disdain?
Is that how I learned
to dismiss
a man 
capable of love?
All I know is that
I did.
It’s too late
to say
I’m sorry,
even while
owning 
what
I learned
at Familial Feet.

Recovering from the Fourth (4)

Phoebe
Sings up
Blue
and Green
Hemlock and pine roots
offer comfort
to exhausted
trees
and bird
children
recovering
from assault…
Sing on
Says Phoebe
And it’s my
job to listen
Sing on…

After – Words. (5)

Refuge,

wrap me

in fragrant branches
Let me feel

 ribbed trunks 

behind me.

Steep gorge below.
Help me to hear

songs beneath words
Take my body –
Throw bird branches
over me
Let me rest –
Just
be a part of what is.
I know we can be cut down
but for now
We stand as One.

We live keening
for what has been lost
And for what may
come…

Seeking always

Acceptance of what is.

These last italisized words are more about me and my struggle to accept what is happening to forests, waters, trees. Nature, I believe, already knows and accepts what is – her perspective is ancient and wise, mine is only a fragment in time….Although grief is part of the whole the message is always the same – live on.

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