Without Definition

Trust is without definition. 

It is the colour of water 

   in its vastness, 

iron grey ~

  troubled by rain clouds or 

clear blue ~ reflecting 

   sun and moving cloud, 

shades of green ~

   at the shoreline where trees 

  bend to caress the water,

~ or capped by lacy froth 

       on a windy day.

Our only definition grows 

  from the details of our lives

lessons from those we grew up with until 

  our own definition blossoms 

a definition that is confident and sure.

But trust remains without definition and 

  yet with a form we feel in our gut.

“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. 

When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, 

because if you do you will sink and drown. 

Instead you relax, and float.”

~ Alan Wilson Watts, British philosopher

(1915 - 1973)

Grey Clouded Air

December 2022

Imagination blown 

by the wild wind 

on this April snow day 

is as light as the flakes that do 

their forced dance and race 

through grey clouded air. 

Were this December, 

the reality would be welcomed. 

Today, if I forget 

the date on the calendar, 

I can see the beauty and 

welcome the crisp cold air 

on my face

pulling my woolen collar 

up to my chin, 

wrapping my arms 

around myself in a warming hug.

A single tiny bird 

ignores snow and wind 

to flit from tree to tree 

before flying away.

“Snow in April is abominable, like a slap 

in the face when you expected a kiss.”

~ L.M.Montgomery, Anne of Ingleside (1939)

Brush Strokes

A high and mighty wind

A broad blue canvas set higher

A palette of cloud set between

gifted a busied weekday

with strokes of genius

Lifting my sight to the sky 

I felt my heart and soul expand.

“On the canvas of life,

Every sweep of the brush matters,

Counts for something…"

~ Scott Hastie, poet

Like Fireflies

Thought-provoking sparks 

of brilliance, like fireflies, 

wink out in the ordinary 

 

 getting ready for work, 

    

   for an outing, 

      

     washing the dishes

        

        shopping for groceries

These brilliant sparks

      become fragments

        puffs of cloud 

           devoid of time, pen and paper

  floating away on the winds of

    responsibility or distraction 

Will they return?

   Maybe ~ and maybe not

Or like fire flies, 

   when lights are low

 

when it is time for sleep

   new ones will come.”

“I’ve reached the moment where the movement of my thought 

interests me more than the thought itself.

~ Pablo Picasso

Autumn Clouds

Autumn clouds

slow drift and pose

first as a duck

then a swan 

floats into the blue.

“Clouds float in the same pattern only once.

~ Wayne Shorter

Sunshine through the Mist

 

Lingering on the sidewalk,

I saw them smiling up at me,

sunshine faces as a cloud blanket

misted the morning light.

“Why hurry over beautiful things? 

Why not linger and enjoy them?

~ Clara Schumann, musician

(1819 - 1896)

Force of Nature

The wind blew 

through the day

Fingers scrabbled through winter branches, across frosted roof tops and dipped down to force puny humans to bend to its icy hand. 

Sun’s rays 

shredded by cloud, 

ignored by the wind,

could not thaw a frozen world.

Still the wind blew 

through the night.

“The wind shows us how close to the edge we are.”

~ Joan Dideon

As a Cloud

Instantly, they turned,

as a cloud in the wind, or

the many voices of humanity.

“The human voice can never reach the distance 

that is covered by the still small voice of conscience.”

~ Mahatma Gandhi

Putting on a Show

Clouds dark and threatening

delicious clean smell of rain

mere sprinkles dotted the sidewalk, wind had no idea which way to go!

then it was quiet………..

but not for long!

inside, I could see the trees 

waving like limp rags

rain spattered onto the balcony

thunder grumbled unconvincingly

sheet lightning concurred.

Is the show closing?

“.…what thunder there was, now grumbled over more distant hills,

like a man saying ‘And another thing’...twenty minutes 

after admitting he’s lost the argument.”

~ Douglas Adams

The Laughter of Rain

Laughing into each day is not always how my mornings start

Today thick generous clouds 

sit heavy on my head until

I watch grass and trees, 

thirsting for tiny tastes of moisture, 

welcome a steady misting rain 

dropping delicately on 

flower and leaf buds 

carefully laughing into spring.

“Last night 

the rain

spoke to me

 slowly, saying,

what joy

to come falling…”

~ Mary Oliver, What Do We Know