In the Beginning

What if it didn’t all start in formless Darkness; with the Spirit moving across the face of the deep calling out, “Let there be Light.”

What if, instead, it all started in Light and Heat, formless and void. What if, it was all formless burning with the Spirit moving through the Light and over the face of the deep calling out, “Let there be Darkness.” And the light receded making a room for Shadow.

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And Darkness moved, expanding to fill the night sky. It flowed beneath stones and pooled in the secret places under the earth. Shadow hid beneath trees and in the depths of the waters; it lay in little patches moving under drifting clouds.

Darkness brought gifts of shade, of cool evenings, and  nights of rest from the blinding, burning Light of creation. Darkness brought mystery, and dreams, and dread; and the desire to answer questions, and reach for dreams, and overcome fear.

Darkness was never the space before Light. Darkness is the gift of shade, of rest, and the expanding beauty of living night.

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Photo Credits: Anita Bowen Photography

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Apples in January

I stand planted underneath

my twisted old apple tree

and peer up into late January.

Dark branches break open

the grey sky.

 

Too many branches mean

dense Summer leaves will choke

out July’s sunlight

any breeze will strangle and fall dead

encouraging disease and rot.

That’s no way to grow apples.

Continue reading “Apples in January”

Standing Back to Back

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We stand together at the brink of December’s end. The year of 2017 is lurching, exhausted, to a close.  With a mix of relief and of trepidation I prepare to turn the last calendar page of 2017 to uncover January 2018.  I feel more than a bit hesitant to let another year in after the chaos we are preparing to sweep out the door. Continue reading “Standing Back to Back”

Away from Lost

universetangleSome days.

Some tangled problems

you leave behind

unsolved, unresolved

behind in time and in space.

Some days, you give permission

to walk away.

Some day you find you are free

then, you are found.

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Photo Credit: Anita Bowen Photography

Dawn Breezes

Coffee with cream,

steaming into dawn as

a sweet breeze sifts my hair.

Eyes closed in stillness

I hear the ocean in these rustling, rustling leaves

as if the trees speak in the language of waves.

And I wonder if, instead

it’s the ocean calling with the voices of trees.

As the rising steam moves softly sideways and away

I imagine these trees speaking of the shore

as

the ocean dreams of the forest.

And coffee with cream

shifts the waves

of morning leaves.

 

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forestcheckPhoto Credit: Anita Bowen Photography

Morning Blue

The radio calls from across the dark bedroom. It’s just loud enough to break the web of sleep and is carefully set to a station too irritating to ignore. The walk around the bed, the reach for the tiny ‘off’ button is enough to lift me into a new day. Too dark to see the dawn, yet it’s surely on the way. Birds are just beginning, hesitantly, to call.

The seed of a new day is planted each night. I picture myself reaching under the pillow to grasp it, the promise of a new day. There is only one each morning and it is ours to ignore, or use, or waste and throw away. If I remembered more often, that each one is a gift, one of only a limited number, I imagine I’d be wiser with each day.

However, it’s easy to blink through the morning, sigh through the afternoon, and ease into bed at the end wondering what happened to the day. What did happen to the day?

“Pay attention”, said all my teachers, ever. “Pay attention.” I yawn as I stumble through another morning and stand, blinking, for the shower to warm enough to step into. There are only so many rainy afternoons, so many evenings with friends. And, yes, only so many dark and chilly mornings. The question isn’t how many.

The question is, what to do with this gift we are given. What to do with this one day, this one morning, this one minute, this one gift.

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Photo Credit: Anita Bowen Photography

 

One Day

imageSome days you’re only one of many, many stones.

Some days you’re the stick, balancing it all.

One day you’ll find you’re neither one.

You’ll stand up, brush off the sand, and walk away wondering what all that was about.

One day, you become yourself.

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Photo Credit: Anita Bowen Photography