In the beginning
And the ending
And the beginning
Stand unbroken
The chimes of the mists
Of evermore, where the raven,
Black king of prophecy,
Of shining forests,
Greets
The rain and the sun,
And awaits
His mate
On the juniper heights,
Hearing the humming croak
Of the frog in the creek
And all the crowds
Of tadpoles
That awoke
In the sands,
In the sparkling rains.
Later,
The wise
Long-eared owl
Walks in the snow,
In the midnight of winter,
Silent,
As she has always done,
Remembering the bubbling lakes of spring
Where crystal flowers flame
In the sunrise,
Where Ganesha’s smile
Illuminates
The fateful dark; where the coyote’s howl
Sings a lullaby, a gentle
Enchantment, laughing, sly.
Where the broken bridge
Of time bends along
The rushing waters of the gorge, transient,
Leaving.
Yet the presence of eternity remains
In the eyes – at once meek
And brave – of the young cottontail.
On a silver-winged hill,
Under a bright cowl of numinous clouds,
The ravens
Call
Still
In the trail
Of the rains
0f a distant day.
Until
The gold feet
Of the setting sun
Run
Over long roads through the juniper trees –
Through the scattered scrub oak.
White cliffs, gateways to eternity,
You who bear the scars
Of rain and winds and storms, who
Give earth blessings,
Who speak silently through
Ancient seas long gone – where you were born,
Through awareness beyond our own,
You talk with the stars
From a far ancient country, long worn
Away,
And yet to be again;
When
You recall the song
Of the mountain bluebird
Who had no name
The song no longer heard,
Sung long ago,
In mystic nights
That left no trace.
Now, after a while,
Tall,
On a high ridge
The pine tree
Stands,
Unafraid, in the ice and snow
Singing still,
Under the haunting moon of grace,
A moon of many petals,
Beyond the tides that rise and fall,
On the plateau above, he stands
And writes with fire in the sky
On a clear and wind-swept day.
©Sharon St Joan, 2019
Photo Credit:
Truly beautiful imagery Sharon!
Thank you, Cindy.
Beautiful. Thanks!
Thanks, Laura.