Pushing Through

Pushing through the pain we see the end.

Perhaps we see the next milestone that offers a glimmer of hope.

A sign post that we are almost there and on the other side across the chasm we are a better version of ourselves individually and collectively ready for the next challenge in this time on earth.

Silent Objections

The calm water reflects the cold
morning sky coming on-line.

Pierced by raven calls and lulled
by rolling waves.

Fragments I carried here
begin to slip into the water.

The cold and water I have come to embrace
as years have passed, has not changed.

The same stones mark the way to an ice covered shoreline
and that tree has become a beacon and marker.

I don’t know if this is home,
I don’t know if the water remembers me.

I take comfort in the thought, that when I pass
some fragment of myself will still linger,

riding waves or falling into the depths,
merging with the sea.

So I release my doubt and stop silent objections
knowing the sea will care for me.

Pockets and Nests

The northern cold and snow arrived late this year.

Huddled against the wind we walk icy paths to the hilltop.

A clear view of the cloud-skewed sky.

Pockets of white, grey, and rare blue.

Various footprints scattered from trees to grasses.

We stop briefly to admire the apparent stillness when only the wind is heard, when only the wind is moving, and everything else nestles into warm pockets of earth, or nests high in the trees.

When our feet began feel the cold, we continue down the other side of the hill, back onto the icy path, and head home to our own nests.

Poem – Taking the Path into the Darkening Sky

Falling off the concrete path, I landed in the empty fields
surrounded with autumn colors.

I was not sure where to turn next, what road to follow,
or where I wanted to go.

The trees then opened showing me a path leading up
into the darkening blue sky, into the unknown.



Poem – The Road

The road into the distant sky
seems untouchable, the journey seems impossible,
but this is the start, this is only the beginning,
if I choose to walk.

I return to that road whenever
direction is needed
whenever I need a reminder of the
path at my feet that I choose to forget.

How to bring ourselves to take the first step,
how to find the courage to follow the path?

Have I taken enough wrong turns,
followed enough roads to dead-ends,
spent enough time screaming into the fields,
that this is the path I am finally ready for?

Poem – Flight

Against an evening sunset
and blue backdrop a pair of ravens
circle, descend, and ascend a last time
before landing in pine trees beginning to green
as the last holds of winter give.

Clinging to limbs as the winds
arrive in gusts from across the lake
they call to others a few trees over
and we watch this conversation take place.

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