The sunless grey sky
releases an afternoon rain

pushing leaves beginning to transition
to bright yellows and deep reds.

Each drop’s ripple in the pond,
each leaf that falls through wind and rain

a reminder of nature’s course in time
and the fragile thread we all cling to.

When my mind becomes scattered,
when each of the thoughts I held
in my core is lost to the wind,
I seek out answers and resolutions
from the natural world.

On mornings when the grey sky
covers the sun and the forest
lives in its own green exterior,
the cold air lays upon the skin,
and you know that rain is near.

Each drop a fragment of some
larger being or existence beyond
this world and my body reacts to the cold
by reassembling the core and bringing
this being back into a whole form.

Storms rolled through last week.

Weak and old trees toppled to the ground or fell into a neighbor or
landed on the wire fencing with the orange flags.

Near the pole barn smaller trees were uprooted but the metal roof
still looks new, the green roof glistening when wet.

What little birch are mixed with the pine
still stand, their white and grey skin

shining through the green mass.
2014-09-13 09.40.41

As the last snow flake and ice crystal
recede into the mountains
thoughts turn to what is left,
the next tasks to be completed,
the chores we must do to
prepare the land for planting
and the spring rains bringing joy
to the crops and the children.

Winter is finally put to rest, for now,
as the sky turns black
and the forest bends
in the hour filled
with frequent strikes
and increasing intensity,
the dry earth quick
to give up secrets,
quick to burn
before the rain arrives.

Those thoughts
the ever-present past
the overgrown fields
the moments we do not allow
ourselves to forget to let go
washed out to sea.

Tall guardians of sticks and leaves.
The winter sky weighs heavy on the canopy.

Rain appears from nowhere and everywhere
the ground becomes the horizon.

The faster I run up and down hills
in circles and through fields of grass

I am still myself and I still exist
in this form but where this is

becomes placeless and free of
attachments and what I am left

with is what I need to overcome.
They are here and watch over

as I lay upon the wet earth
with eyes closed I exhale

the poison and inhale the fog.



In this dream I watched
your silhouette dress.

Sounds of the streets below
carried by the autumn wind.

We had a place to be
but I do not remember where.

I caught a glance of your eyes
in the mirror and the soft blue

with a hint of smile told
me this was not real.


I wandered the streets
of mirrors for days
and weeks searching for the
one last person I knew.


I stood at the corner
beneath buildings of
concrete and glass.

Rain fell everywhere but
upon me and I walked

dry and untouched down
empty streets and empty lives.


I stood at the corner
and waited for the last bus.

Its doors opened but no one exited.
I boarded and there was no driver.

The inside was dark and wet.
I stumbled around trying to

find anything and after
hours of a fruitless search

I sat down and fell asleep
while the bus left the station.

Downtown Streets, by Twisted Root Studios –

Downtown Streets
Downtown Streets, by Twisted Root Studios –

Beautiful, each word has a purpose, the perfect poem.

I Am Whatever I Choose To Become

When the ocean is as the sand
and the flowers are in pain
let a kind one give the command
for love to let it rain.

By Mikial Millard
Copyright Dec 2013
All rights reserved.

View original post

A beautiful early fall day in Minnesota. Grey clouds let go of rain upon the yellow, red, and orange leaves finally making an appearance.  The grass greened over night and the remnants of summer have washed away for the time being.

Nature is all around, but the rain brings hidden creatures from the soil, leaves and grass from dormant states, and even dogs from the comfort of home.

Photo courtesy of Twisted Root Studios