Each day
The weight of a leaf

Falling
into a pile
we gather
up
at the end

Each leaf is 5 grams;
but the pile
weighs
hundreds of
pounds

No weight in our hand
Simply the feeling
Of crisp form

Its corners, ridges,
And variegation
of hues

Some days we conclude in prayer,
“Oh, thank God it’s over,”

Yet it counts,
this one leaf,
filling our bin of days

Experiencing
Ourselves,

One leaf at a time.

As legs hang on rusty hinges
the strides of doorways
lesser long

wisdom crisps its palms 
up to the hearths of winter
on walks

Older finds joy 
watching little jelly movers
under the snowy leaves 
of autumn's fall

There is freedom 
in holding back;
experiencing exuberance
perched high in cedar
witnessing the now moments
of a uranian world
from a fifth dimensional view

Knowing that Love
sourced from the heart
affects the observed
just as true.

A Poem on hearing the voice of nature

The open field
Bordered by firs elders
Covered in blooming
Lemon clover
Left space

Inside this vast openness
I set down my burdens

My worries
& discomforts
And the burlap
they rode in on

What was left was
clear azure sky

Holding a new sound
authored by birds

Toby’s
soft breath
Inside this dome of space

Oh most definitely,
dogs speak

in the secret language
translated by those
who love them beyond
logic

The sun shoots a cannon
across the ridgeline of the trees
paralleling the emerald horizon

Pouring golden syrup over the eastern trunks
of exhausted autumn trees

The sunrise casts a spotlight
over
this magical stage

pulling back the curtain
over the
enchanted valley floor

At the beach house
you don’t need much
an old mossy table
the boards
collaged in pine needles
a firepit
domed by scorched
trees huddling
stitched together
as one quilted canopy
hoping for wisdom below
A snappy fire
fanning air
that
grows crisp
and birds
the birds
oh the birds
their songs above
always their songs
around.