Little cardinal builds her nest
     amidst the bush next
          to the house.

Eggs laid.
     Wait.

Two babies hatch.
     Bald,
          eyes closed tightly.

Day by day they grow,
     Cheeping to be fed.

Between one afternoon and the
     next morning, one
          disappears.

What happened to you
     little baby bird?

Where did you go?
     ebb and flow…
          life and death?…

Am I the only one who wonders,
what ants do all the time?
When they walk seemingly without a pattern,
do they know where they are going?
What do ants think of us, do we scare them,
or are we not importand enough to care about?
How do they communicate?
Can they be sad?
I keep thinking about the ants?
Do they ever think like this, about the flies? Or spiders, or butterflies?
Who will ever know...

Four paws walk
Through veins of
My heart with soothing
Whispers of love
      
Two eyes melting
All pain away
Speaking silently
Removing life's  gravities

Licks of a warm
Pink panting tongue
Gently Washing away
Stains of the day

Waging tail brushing
Hope deep into the
Recess of my soul no
Human can touch

Written by E.M.Rushton

these mornings are to be quiet,
to savor the new beginning

these mornings are not to be wasted,
scurrying about,
rushing, hurrying

rushing, racing into the future
actions, thoughts

these mornings are to greet the new sun
wander in circles and spirals with your puppy so fun
following tracks laid by  the wild creatures
through the dark night

these mornings are to breathe
to stand still, feeling the deep pull
of mother earth
gravity, keeping this insignificant form from
floating away
up
far
away
into deep, black, silent space

these mornings are to marvel at the
ever changing landscape
colors shifting,
flowers,
leaves,
plants,
trees

these mornings are to listen to the hooting
of the owls
the song of the birds
no radios
no televisions
no computers
no phones

only the peaceful company of mother earth
her plants,
intelligent and sacred
her creatures,
wild and free
unfettered by schedules
imposed and artificial

following the Way
effortlessly,
serenely.

Her wails rent the air

O God how unfair you are
to have snatched him from me
the only man that truly cared
never treated me badly.

Without him is a life to grieve
empty meaningless
take me too O God relieve
this pain of no redress!

Shouldn't we bring a costly cot
of mahogany or such wood
asked the men what was her thought
about carrying her man so good.

Shouldn't the pyre be of sandalwood
the fuel a pure ghee
your husband ma'am was a man too good
to be burned ordinarily.

She paused a while frowning dark
a shadow passed her face
a hint of wince made its mark
a pall of uneasiness.

He's gone to never return
the onus is now on me
to run the days with meager earn
and not spend wastefully.

ordinary wood would burn as good
kerosene would do well
prudence demands not one should
be lavish in funeral.

walking across
the damp grass
little acorns poke
the souls
of my feet
fall coming