Snow in the forecast.
wood pile sits,
waiting to do what matters.
trees and branches growing in a lush forest of bliss.
each occupying a similar and connected intention,
they grow, drop that which is no longer necessary,
reach and keep on reaching for yet another arrival.
One select tree embraces the sacred hoop,
one year at a time.
So, so many, many more than mine.
Wood stove waiting now.
one by one, rings of sunlight burst
into a symphony of dancing golds, yellows, oranges and light.
Sharing yet one more of it’s highest gifts.
Spring and Summer re – membered by one’s soul.