Sunday, February 01, 2009

Cold Springs

In a little woode, between this town and that
lies a grove of birch, of pine, and
three tangled, twining, wild cherries
~dryads dancing sunwise, leaning into song~

Midsummer grasses caress the tops of the twisting limbs
and together they hide me in their center
I sit in secret and relish the heat, the buzzing, the washes of light and shadow

In the winter, all is laying bare and flat
no leafy bowers, no whisperings with tiny grass spiders

I smile at the memory
and at the tomorrow
where I will hide again, and giggle at the passers-by

I have real love for this woode
with tall trunks reaching up
the longest green grasses and the brightest woodland flowers tucked in
near and far and inbetween

my voice echoes when it is cold with frost

Always hot with haze in the summer, crisp and open in winter

When first I saw Cold Springs, my breath caught and I wanted to run among
the trees and laugh and giggle
so I did
and my children followed me,
and they follow me still, but now they get ahead and lead the discoveries
pointing out the familiar and the well-loved
the hollow log we are sure a rabbit lives in
the paper birch with peeling curls
the natural bridge we sit and swing our legs on

the spring source that is green even in the winter
and even in the bitter biting cold when ice hangs over it like a crystal curtain, and you think it might be frozen over completely,
I have been surprised to hear it whispering still, when I put ear to ice

mud comes up to our ankles in the summer when we must cross it to be lost in shoulder high grass and wild roses and self-heal
yellow monkey-flower is like a carpet
and tiny chickadees flit from inner bramble to inner bramble,
knowing they are just out of your grasp
the familiar voice of the creek as it burbles along and makes its way to bigger places

soothes my soul
I feel a belonging here

a mutual respect and an awe and a kinship with it
I think this woode trusts me

I want to lay down in the creek and let it clean me
but it is so bitter cold, I'd have to be full-on crazy to do it

I'm only half crazy today, and I put my hands in
maybe I'll be crazier in the heat of summer
when my mind is heady with the pollen and the bees and I've sat in my hidden spot
peering out for long enough

there is magic of another kind just past the green grasses
and a step from the sounds of the water
an ancient lava river stopped here, making a shelter
it is not the same playful spirit here, as the grass stops and the rocks rise up
a different spirit lives if one went running through the meadow in
glee and wonder and have been stopped on tip-toe, panting and still
as if suddenly faced with the rising steeple of a church
and their spirit is hushed and suddenly the need to sit and ponder is as impulsive as the need to run came over them before
how thankful I am that something stopped the lava from coming any further...
as if it just didn't have the heart to create anymore destruction
as if it couldn't bring itself to take over the innocent sweet spirit of the spring
and because I can't bring you here, I'll let the creek talk to you itself:



Graciel @ Evenstar Art said...


Thank you for commenting on my apron post. Now, I have found you and see a kindred spirit. I am mad, mad for the woods and all nature. And the elephant sanctuary? My absolute favorite!!

Now I can bookmark your blog and follow along. Horray!

xo, Graciel

From This Moment to That said...

Wonderfully uplifting post, your writing is truly inspiring... thank you so much for giving me a glimpse of the magical woods and streams, they beamed their way across the ether into my heart and cheered my 'city day'!
I was so glad to see your comment on my blog, I too love quotes and poems and collect them, I was really encouraged by your visit.