into the flames the willow tree burns
smoldering leaves melt from the crown
dripping into the snow.
I walk away as the last root burns
and shake gasoline from my fingertips.
the waiting messiah smiles
snow building around its presence.
the thinning horizon meets the
whitening land as shadows disperse.
when the last ember cools and
fire and roar leave this place,
an orchestra plays softly.
I turn back – the beings presence
moving left to right and we walk
together toward the disappearing horizon.
Regardless of what the trail is made of,
it connects us to the earth,
guides us through the forest,
allows us to be within.
Standing on the front porch
I watch the sun rise over the
distant mountains and first light
run across the empty fields.
Morning wind pushes scattered stalks and coffee steam
while bird songs emerge from the tree line.
High bulbous clouds assume many colors
as the sun reaches higher.
Leroy lays at my side sleeping
as we watch night become the day.
Spring has filled in the once barren forest
and we witness the green waves rolling
toward the blue horizon.
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.
We walk across ths snowy fields
a chance meeting yet we always
knew this day would arrive.
I do not know your face
from dreams of a spirit
walking between tall trees,
always obscured and hidden.
But with the song playing out
here between each snowflake.
I know it is you.
“Which way home?”
She asked in child’s voice.
“This way, into the sun.”
I replied, pointing up the slope at the muted
late winter sun at the path’s end.
“We all come from the sun.”