At sunrise, the wind is telling her story through the tree boughs and chimes
Sometimes a raucous cacophony and sometimes serene like glassy water on the lake

She uses the small chimes to tell a story so subtle and delicate
To not hear them is to not hear at all
Twinkling stars, little birds and the joy that a new day brings
It whispers, “Isn’t it lovely, this new day!”

She nudges the large chimes to tell longer stories
Of seasons, temperature, moonlight, and the winter solstice just passed
Its slow song, “Darkness becoming radiant blue above. Nothing is separate from change. Stay present, stay present.”

And the middle chimes – this is where she talks the most
It chatters on about how it let what came, come
And how it let go of what went
And found out what remained

It is in the middle chime’s mystical chatter
Where light and dark, form and non-form are seen as one
It’s never-ending story says with a smile, “Be here, with whatever shows up.
Be here, my friend.”

I forgot what the leaves covered up
I can see the far hills again
And a tiny piece of the lake at the bottom of the valley

The lake is now grey and cold with a steady chop
It doesn’t beckon me as it did in August
when it hosted us in shorts and tanks on a hot summer day

But that doesn’t stop the intrepid few paddlers
who venture out year-round on that solitary waterscape
geared up for survival in that wet, cold, deep space with only face exposed

I miss the green leaves
but the barren limbs outside my window have a message of their own
They didn’t forget the autumn and are now prepared for the coming ice and bluster

My wind chimes sing a lively song
Deep mellow tones and lighter bells ringing
their chorus sings a subtle refrain, “prepare, prepare”

This is the song of leaves falling and wood stoves waking up
Their chewing embers gnawing on the season’s first chunks of wood
and sending it out the top with a familiar sweet-charred smell

I forgot what the leaves covered up
Longer shadows and shorter days
A new season, colder out there but warm in here

Sometimes it all seems so damn hard
And I want to just go home to my bed
Sink in the warmth
And rest my head

But between these dark cold clouds
I see the baby blue sky
Shyly waiting amidst the steel and soot
To come out again and fly

And I wonder
How I ever came to be
So many shades of me
If she made me, then who made she?

My sister summer
She’s moved on
Her greens are keeping a different beat
And they fall to the ground
In waves of color at my feet

Days grow short and my night pipes swell
They creak and sputter to warm my toes
Fear and excitement
As the wet chill grows

And I wonder
How I ever came to be
So many shades of me
If she saved me, then who saved she?

Notes: This is an old one that I stumbled upon the other day while going through some papers. My life has changed in so many ways since writing this. At first, when I read it I wondered if it was mine because I so rarely put rhyme in my poetry. I thought it had a few nice lines in it — hope you enjoy.

Sit here until there is an awareness of
That which does not demand attention

Breathing
Blue sky
Autumn’s remaining leaves, stiff and falling
Gusted wind chime playing some mystical tune

That which just IS

Simply being aware of these goings on is not enough
Mind can chatter through the biggest storm
Fears, judgments, evaluations enshroud the clearest blue sky day

Mind is, but is not Truth

Mind, always preoccupied by the next, fleeting distraction
But there is a knowing
that what lies deeper
is subtle, always there
and does not demand anything

Sitting with this awareness
is pure joy

Naked trees on snowy darkening sky
Softened sounds
The silence of snow falling

A slowing down and moments of stopping the buzz
No cell phones
No computers
No music
No one

Reality is deafening and completely silent
How was I able to not see it? Not hear it?

If I have a prayer tonight
I pray that this moment is always accessible, this snowy silence in my heart.

Arm wrapped around the pine, like an old friend
Comforting, loving
I say with teary eyes, “Why is life so confusing?”

She says, “Life isn’t confusing, it just IS. It’s your mind that makes things look confusing but they’re really not.”

Old tree, tall and straight. Long boughs holding snow. You’ve been here a long time and you know the simplicity you speak of.
How could you know anything else but this quiet, this simple silence…