It Feels Like Fall

It feels like fall today -
the sun has that honey light,
and the trees,
they're just starting to turn.
It must be fall, right?

It feels like fall today -
the air is crisp and clean,
but my garden,
it still has flowers,
and the weeds are nice and green.

It feels like fall today -
the start of something new,
and the days
they have that changing feel,
like September's supposed to -
hope I'm not just wishing.

Along the River: A Lyric

I stand beside the water,
by the water
by the river
I stand beside the water
as it rushes to the sea.
Its voice is sweet and calming
as it flows by
as it goes by
its voice is sweet and calming
as it slips between the trees.

The geese call as they gather
there above it
glide into it
the geese call as they gather
then noisily fly on.
The willow trees, they murmur
bending over
leaning over
the willow trees, they murmur
as the water slips along.

I wonder what its song says
to the trees there
to the rocks there
I wonder what its song says
to the things that call it home.
Does it sing of where it started,
in the mountains,
snowfall's fountains
does it sing of where it started,
or of where it goes to roam?

I stand beside the water,
by the water
by the river
I stand beside the water
as it rushes to the sea.
Its voice is sweet and calming
as it flows by
as it goes by
its voice is sweet and calming
as it slips between the trees.

Autumn on the Water

Deafening the sound,
a thousand wings whirring as one,
feather and muscle
beating against the air
in their hurry to escape -
they drown out my thoughts
as we paddle into the pond
and the ducks take flight.

A lone hen left behind
cackles her feeding call for a moment,
then quack, quack, quack,
she too lifts from the water,
flies away,
and leaves me alone
with the gentle slurp of my kayak paddle,
and an echo of wind in my hair.

Melt

The water spirit
breaks through the white blanket
he slept beneath
as the spring sunshine tickles his nose,
then flows slowly down the mountainside
into the valleys,
drip by melted drip,
swelling rivulets into cold running streams
leaving a wave of green in his wake
marked with a splash of flowers.

Teasing Spring

Spring, you sly season,
how you tease me today –
there’s still snow on the mountain,
to warn me away,
but the air is so warm,
and there are buds on the trees,
And the birds are out singing–
you so love to tease.

Spring, you sly season,
daffodils are in bloom,
and the clouds are all puffy,
not dark Winter’s gloom,
and I long to be walking
feel the warmth of the breeze –
Dare I hope to believe it?
You so love to tease.

Spring, you sly season,
I see new leaves on the rose,
it’s too warm for my scarf
and something tickles my nose.
And I want to get busy,
getting down on my knees,
planting flowers for summer –
You so love to tease.

Spring, you sly season,
dark Winter’s bright child,
your smile, it is merry
and your soft touch is mild.
You so love to play me,
but Spring, if you please,
be certain you’re staying.
You so love to tease!

Mountain Afternoon

The wind roared in the pine trees
from time to time as I watched
the last patches of snow
on the mountainside
turn to mush,
and trickle down into the creek.

Nearby,
a branch fell from a dead tree,
and a raven cawed,
and I contemplated
the World Tree
and Thought and Memory,
Odin's storm crows,
and the ways of fate
and wisdom
and sunshine scattering like diamonds
on the lake below.

And the wind roared,
and the snow melted,
and the stream flowed.

Some things, after all,
take care of themselves.

Change of Season

The wind dances around me
beneath a blue sky
and the wind chimes sing
their metallic cry,
and I stare at the mountain
and wonder why
I feel on edge and quite restless.

The willow withies
dance like long green hair
caressed by the wind
in the cool spring air,
and the apples have bloomed
with a pale white flair,
but I stand here, alone, quite restless.

O robin, O dove,
O hawk flying low,
you know what to do,
you know where to go.
I watch the river
as the spring waters flow,
like me, they flow by, quite restless.

The snow on the mountain
melts quickly away,
My tulips are blooming
and long grows the day.
I ought to be working,
or at least trying to play,
But instead, I stand here quite restless.

A Pause in the Hike

He feels the touch of it,
the magic,
here in the mountains
as they sit on a rock,
resting for a moment
beneath a blue sky.

Magic
pouring over them like a benediction,
caught up in the flow of water,
and the call of birds singing,
and the wind in the pines,
and the gentle smile of the woman in his arms.
Wrapped up in the simple joy of the day,
he silently thanks the spirits of the place,
smiles,
and kisses his wife.

Ocean

Ah, ocean -
heaving grey-green mystery,
wine-dark in your hidden depths
where all is black abyss filled with hidden lights,
I have seen you opaque olive,
filled with the silt of ages,
diamond scattered when the light is right,
crystal clear blue sometimes,
making the heart ache
in your perfection
and immensity,
foaming wall of water sweeping all away,
indescribable cradle of life.

Duet: Ghost Along the Shore

I hear the seagulls crying
I hear the seagulls crying
I hear the seagulls crying
as I walk along the shore.

Salt in the air tonight my love,
like tears uncried tonight my love,
like lovers' lies tonight my love -
forget me not in the morning.

The cold wind wraps around me
the cold wind wraps around me
the cold wind wraps around me
as it whispers "never more."

The waves roll in tonight my love,
and wash the strand tonight my love,
to hide your hand tonight my love -
forget me not in the morning.

I remember how she sang here
I remember how she sang here
I remember how she sang here
As she walked along the shore.

The sand is wet tonight my love,
from rain and wave tonight my love,
from my heart's blood tonight my love -
forget me not in the morning.

She whispers at the ebb tide
she whispers at the ebb tide
she whispers at the ebb tide
But she'll sing for me no more.

Call of the Waters

I lay here on my bed,
heavy with gravity
and the dregs of winter,
and dream of floating on warm water
green and diamond sparkled in the afternoon,
and the cry of seagulls
and the smell of salt.

The years have passed,
but I remember how it called to me
and how it felt to wade in it,
and what it was like,
to just sit on the shore,
watching the pelicans at sunrise.

Sitting up,
I look out the window at mountains
and consider how it feels to be up in the heights,
surrounded by the silence and wind,
sunlight in the meadows,
the murmur of the trees –
a good place,
yet I know
that mountains do not have all the answers,
and at last,
even they will wash down
into the green depths
of Mother Ocean.

It is powerful,
the call of the waters –
if even the mountains cannot resist,
how can I?

Riverside Invitation

I toss a pebble into water,
and watch the ripples
beneath a lead gray sky
and lift my head up,
filled with a nameless yearning.

O wind
filled the the touch of change,
why do you bring me here,
stir my longing
and leave me
watching the leaves swirl
and the geese fly,
calling me to follow,
but I am too heavy,
too earthbound to follow.

Ah, the fae ways
of weather and wind,
whispering of things beyond my understanding,
eldritch and powerful,
just outside of my grasp -
old magic, that,
bound to rock and wind and water
and that place where the land meets the sky,
how it washes over me,
asking me to follow.
I sigh,
frustrated at my heaviness,
and watch the ducks set their wings,
landing in the river,
and wish for the sun.

Watching the Water

How high the water flows -
how swift the current,
I watch a duck float by
riding the torrent.
Spring melt is here
the mountains shed their snow
I stand beside the stream
and watch the water flow.

How blue the sky looks now
above the trees.
I watch a robin fly
and feel the breeze.
Beyond the riverbank
the people come and go.
I stand beside the stream
and watch the water flow.

Bound to the shade am I,
not to warm sunlight.
I watch the waterbirds
drift slowly out of sight.
My eyes may see the spring,
my spirit walks in snow.
I stand beside the stream
and watch the water flow.

Here by the Waters

Here by the waters,
here by the flowing waters,
here the pale green arms
of willow wakened by spring
entwine me, binding my heart.

The waters flow on,
never ceasing their singing.
A single leaf lands,
turns once, drifting away
on the clear, sunlit surface.

The withies hold fast,
willow, tree of remembrance,
rooting in my thoughts
the memories, the pain
binding me in those yesterdays.

Let me be a leaf
slipping into tomorrow
drifting in sunlight
down the clear rushing water,
not the unmovable tree.