Wednesdays Woodland Walk

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At the beaver dam

The Water is flowing & the Spring Peepers are peeping

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Six-Sidied Spears

Droplets of vapor

Conscripted from the air

Amassed in great clouds

Marshalled for War

Each drop armed with spears

And adorned in armor of Ice

All at once a trillion warriors descend upon their prey

Grass, trees, & buildings all buried in the onslaught

And too am I attacked

Yet many defenses have I

Wide-rimmed hat, coat, & gloves

Protect me from the thousand cuts of each flake

So I continue on my Path unhindered

As a fool who easily forgets

The marksmanship of Snow

To patiently fall so far

So slow

Yet still strike the intended target

It only take one

Six-sided spear

Striking the nape of my neck

To penetrate my skin

And invade my spine with Winter’s chill

Consume my body’s warmth with coldness

Infect my mind with a poisonous Frost

Fill my veins with Ice

And inflict upon me

The same mood

That lay siege to the Land

For Winter has come

And my Soul must sleep

From the Seed

Each moment

-Adds a leaf to the tree

Ever growing

-In height and girth.

Flowering in joy

-To mark discovery

Branching out

-In new perspectives

Autumn colors

-Covenant to wisdom

Solace of the soul

-In winters sleep

Seed laden fruit

-Propagation of success

Strength through adversity

-Rings around the heart

Anchored in truth

-Moss covered roots

Frost on the Rye

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When the clouds turn to stone

and the harvest dies

the Savage Season begins.

Wind no longer holds wing

and the lightning flies South

it is the season of elimination.

Dearest mother Earth

hides her secret of life

and the mind rages against the soul.

It is the season of the cold Sun.

It is the Savage Season.

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