sung by the ancient trees
beneath vivid green mosses
in the thick, soft rustle of roots
a fertile earth murmurs
breath of wind whispers
wild intuition walks
as secrets fall to rest
on the O horizon*
*The O horizon is the organic horizon that forms near the top of the soil in forests and other places where there is abundant plant material. It is a flourishing ecosystem where decomposition takes place, where worms, bacteria, and fungi break down leaves, pine needles, plants, bugs, and other detritus. In woodland areas, there are usually three O horizons. The first is that of pine needles, twigs, and leaves. The second is that of partially composted material. The third is a dark humus, not actually soil but rather a mature compost.
Little birds — sparrows, juncos, chickadees — dance at the feeder, filling their bellies. A red-tailed hawk hides in the trees at the back of the pond, waiting patiently as snow and wind whirl and howl. I wonder if he is contemplating the animal tracks in the snow and on the ice, hoping to manifest breakfast. Pema Chödrön said, “Give up all hope of fruition,” because hope robs us of the present moment. The hawk abandons hope and swoops. Breakfast has arrived.
clouds sagging earthward
meet the high-reaching branches
of skeletal trees
I’ve decided to participate in the Mindful Writing Challenge which starts in January. I enjoyed this year’s River of Stones so much that I couldn’t pass it up. In the meantime, a bit of practice can’t hurt.
The image is a collage of three photos taken on a foggy, misty morning much like today.
sheltering in the arms
of an old spruce
watching the rain fall
as the pine cones grow
and the new growth of spring
ablaze in its verdancy
bows towards earth
A spot of color
on a snowy day
The male cardinal grandstands
The sun rises from behind the neighbor’s house,
revealing and warming the trees at the back of the pond
in a blaze of golden-orange light.
Darkness lurks in the woods.
Day 11’s small stone.
*The title for this post is courtesy of the spam I cleared out this morning. One of them referred to my blogs as “merely magnificent.” I love the contradiction in terms.
The air is crisp and cool, biting on the inhale, an underlying essence of pine carried by the breeze in the coniferous forest. Sunlight streams through the trees, misty from the thawing snow and ice. Traversing the swampy and unstable pathways, we tread carefully, occasionally getting mired in the mud. A joyful January ramble in the woods.
The photo and thoughts are from a hike I took with my husband yesterday. I’m semi-disconnecting on Sundays and scheduled this to stand in for me until I return on Monday. A small stone for day 8.