Page: Profile: Poetry
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VxPoem ID: 32299
Posted: March 7th. 2008 5:45:00 AM
Age Group: Adult
While walking amidst the comfortable embrace of an old forest, I
suddenly heard the boisterous cries of a flock of geese winging by up
above. They were heading North in an ancient ritual heralding the
coming of spring. As I watched them I thought about how many
lifetimes and how many folks have witnessed such a special procession
of our aerial friends. Oh what a sacred omen indeed, which dates back
to the beginning of time itself. I quietly wonder if the sacred
breath of Danu herself was the first wind beneath their wings.
I watched as a sleepy eyed groundhog peered out from his burrow. He
is ready to engage the coming season with a hearty glee, engaged in
fond memories of green grass and wildflowers from the year before. He
is a roly-poly bundle of joy which brings a smile to the face of an
As I look about at my towering friends, I took notice of their barren
limbs silhouetted against the clear sky like so many gnarled fingers
of gray. I think of my dear grandmother and the many elders who have
influenced my life over the years. It brings to mind the thought that
each of us has had a procession of elders extending back into the
mists of time. Each one, adding to the mixture, that forms the basis
of who we are today as a people.
A connection which is so strong, that we continuously look to the
past as a guide to the future.
And then I wonder how will future generations view our personal
contribution to the on going chain of life? Will our memory bring
forth a smile or the grimace of disappointment?
As I reach out and lay my hand on the rough bark of a grand old oak
tree, I can sense the dryad within. Patiently awaiting for the sap to
rise and for the bright green leaves and buds to sprout forth once
more, thus heralding the arrival of spring.
I can sense the presence of the insects huddled beneath the bark.
Having been dormant throughout the winter, they are ready to once
again surge forth in a bustling display of activity.
As I walked past a cold clear stream, visions of dragonflies engaged
in a delicate ballet floods my mind. I can almost hear the sounds of
dark green crooners singing the bullfrog blues. Such thoughts bring
to mind the primeval influence of music and how such a power affects
all aspects of our lives regardless of which path we walk down. And I
wonder what began such a melodious embrace of life, was it the birds,
or the frogs or perhaps a source no longer evident to us?
And then I realize that all of life is a song, with each of us adding
to the nebulous chorus. At times we send out notes of joy and
happiness, at others, notes of sadness and despair. Each note adding
to the chorus of the symphony of life.
As I neared a quiet, isolated pond in the woods, I could sense the
denizens buried deep within the murky bottom awaiting the internal
call to once again stir the surface of the silent pond. Rugged
looking snapping turtles with shells covered with green moss and
painted turtles exhibiting an array of color. I looked about at the
desolate logs projecting forth from the watery depths. Each log is
worn smooth from years of use, patiently waiting the day when they
will once again serve as a favorite sunning spot. It is then that I
realize how all things in life serve a purpose though we may not
always see it as such. For not every purpose is apparent, but none
the less has its place in the grand scheme of things.
And though I honor both the dark half and the light half of the year,
I look forward to the continuation of the journey.
As I head back up the trail, dried leaves and blades of grass from
years past cushion my steps. And I begin to ponder about how many
others before me have walked this very same trail? Were their
thoughts along the same lines or were they caught up in more
immediate concerns? Were they aware of the subtle feelings of spring
or did the magic of such a moment pass them by? Our awareness of such
moments is tempered by our desire to see and feel.
Here and there were bushy tailed grey squirrels digging up the
remnants of their winter fare, secure in the knowledge that a fresh
crop was soon to takes its place.
As I watched them scurrying about, a rustling in the dried brown
leaves caught my attention. And there in all its glory was a red
breasted robin, a true harbinger of spring.
As I began to leave the serenity and comfort of the woods that I so
dearly love, I stopped and savored the moment and gradually became
aware of the thin rounded blades of spring onions pushing up through
the dark soil.
And so with a deep sigh I find myself caught up in the anticipation
of the arrival of spring.
Can you feel it in the air?
Author's Notes: Crick serves as the HP of Whispering Woods coven.
Author's Location: Manheim, Pennsylvania
More Poems: Crick has posted 27 additional poems- View them?
Author's Profile: To learn more about Crick - Click HERE
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