Go into the mist
Where the great light falls
Where blue flowers gleam
In the winds of dawn,
And the owl calls
Softly, in her deep tone.
Go into the wild where
The one with no name tells a luminous tale
Of the star forest.
Out onto the green hills of peace,
Go where the mists of the mountain meet,
Where the unkempt stream
Grows out of the tall cliffs of stone,
Where the bright feet
Of the moon
Skip on the winged waves of the water, glimmering,
Where mystical geese sail
Along the snow-enchanted trail
Back to the beginning,
To before the great scattering —
Back to where only the silver song of the loon,
Clear in the white night,
Sings to the peace beyond the realms of being.
© 2015, Sharon St Joan, photo and poem