Spring Benediction



Earth celebrates the season

in a thousand shades of gray.

Black and white bleed

stark contrast into

a horizon birthing light.

She stands under towering trees

soaking in their strength

– feeling –

a Sense of Wonder –

the miracle of spring snow

for a thirst driven desert…


She gazes upward lost in canopies –

Cottonwoods bending sturdy

arms seeking to embrace…

each patch of bare skin

breathing diamond flakes…

Wearing furry mink coats

her heaped up heart

opens to Love.


Trees know

her Mother and Lover,

both hide inside

Rough Bark,

That spring Sap is rising.


As Father,

trees dip and sway

but do not break

or walk away

in the fiercest of winds


when mighty walls



The child needs protection

from those

who left her



She leans

towards steadfast trees

dripping water from each limb…

Their shelter is her symphony.

Tangled in

Underground conversation –

she listens.

Trees sing love songs to Water,

to ‘Changing Woman.’

A Rainbow covered mountain –

has blessed her

with a Spring Benediction.


Working notes:


As I stepped out the door at dawn the words rose unbidden – “this is a spring benediction”. Last night the Cloud People came and offered the Earth a gift of wet snow that covered each branch and bush, altering the landscape in the most magnificent way.


This winter and early spring the desert has been given a reprieve from drought.


No matter how temporary, I am celebrating for the trees, scrub, wildflowers and myself, for all of us must have our feet dipped in sky water to thrive.



The Littlest Juniper



A solitary spire

refuses to bow

to heavy snow.

‘My tree’ communes

with flaky gray sky.


Transplanted late

last fall

I wondered…

Young roots

are so tender…

Would the old

nearby juniper

teach her

the ways of

an overgrown field,

guide her tendrils down

to tap sweet



Whenever I gaze at

this miniature tree

she tears my heart in two.

I tell her

I won’t be here

to see her reach adulthood –

Junipers live

a thousand years or more.

(or did)


But while I am around

I will love her

as one of my own –

a child with prickly needles

gray green darkening to

emerald when the

Cloud People come.


Whenever I lay down

to rest my weary body

I imagine my feet –

brown roots flowing

out the door to

become one with hers…


Together we rise up

through her spire

find our way back

to my supine body

as a child would return

to her mother

closing a circle

of Love between us

as she listens to

my prayers for her life.