the land across the bridge
a new morning breaks on the land across the bridge
as the full and yellow moon climbs over the mountain
swells and swoons, seducing me in a second
there’s a scattering of pine on the hills just beyond-
I will walk through them in spring. for now, I float
on streets coated in white, sparkling to the deep blue
as the sun’s searching rays, sparce on early January
days,
emit a distant calling, an invitation echoes- light
codes,
stretching from south to north, an unfurling
under my feet, a steady patter of crunchy snow
while above, my glowing friend, will keep safe and
quiet
all the beautiful secrets of a new year rising
to be happy might just be,
to hold the sensation of each living moment, tenderly,
as if the moon were a pearl dropping preciously
to your hand, a sacred embrace, warmly held.
there is so much to feel, so much still to learn
in each foggy breath that rises to the fresh cold air
comings
and goings
late
September, last rays of summer
a
warm wild beach on the coast of Galicia
where
pilgrims pass with merry energy
this
morning I drove from the interior
leaving
the dry brambled forests behind
the
glow of Allariz in the green valley
church
bells chiming through the fog of dawn.
I
meet a dear friend, her steady present heart
a
guide on this journey, the wisdom of lifetimes.
this
whole life is a series of comings and goings
a
constant invitation to move, more gently,
towards
the next season of being
to
do so without the pull of sticky thoughts,
the
meaning-making clinging to a previous place
to
let past beauty live on in smiling memory
now
the sweet sea rolls at my feet and the valley
of
Miñor rises high beyond the light sea mist
can
I be here now with the peaceful crash
of
water and the soft sun kiss of early autumn?
until
it’s time to return, or set out on life’s next adventure.
this
grand day, this grateful heart.
The
Residence
Entering
to smiles and polite corporate greetings
From
square reception desk and on up the stairs
We
move through a corridor, sterile, bleached white
Ahead
there are some mumbles, a shriek and a shout
I’m
dying, let me out! Gut-clenching, sinking heart.
The
heat is at maximum, residents in t-shirts.
Beyond
the hall we move towards a large open space,
A
common room, older folks left and right,
But
nothing common at all - wondering faces
Of
a homecoming delight, a child’s eyes of awe
On
a morning of Christmas, a new baby’s arrival,
The
soldier's return home after war, the pierce of love
At
first sight. Those wedding day eyes, sweetheart.
The
first bite of that favourite cake. Each slice
Of
life present in joyful alive eyes.
Rumi
once said that the most beautiful place on earth
Is
the centre of your heart. Here, it’s as clear
As
fresh rainfall after a Spanish summer of drought
In
this Madrid residence for the old. That beauty -
It’s
there in the breaking, the opening, the unfolding.
In
the being right there and not wanting to go.
To
want to take them with you and run but instead,
You
embrace, gently hug, or caress a hand in your hand
Laughter
and chuckles, the stories of our lives.
The
mind’s adrift, though the souls are surface surfing
I
can’t bear to look away from any of this.
Tears
roll down cheeks, sweet river of remembering,
Oh, the remembering, of all the beauty on earth.
The
Choice
As
the evening fades, vivid azure to slate blue,
The
sky is offering a breather after lashing days
And
below the crumbling mustard dunes
A
dozen rigid boulders scatter the beach
Erupted
and lodged where before lay only flattened sand.
You
cannot predict how life will creep up on you
And
rock you violently to your knees
Leave
you in clumps and lumps – stranded –
And
you still need to wash dishes
And
make lunch and pay your bills
Take
the rubbish out before it stinks
Even
while your stomach wobbles
With
the anguish of a missing presence
But
this evening’s sky reminds me
That
walks in evening’s blue light are available too
As
is the choice to watch the heron fish in the river for her young
I
can arise again early tomorrow and just at dawn
Go
out and listen to the glimmer of bird song
I
can still watch the islands on the horizon
And
dream one day of drifting out in a boat.
High
above, a Christ moon frames itself: perfect,
Stable
and deep over the mountains
Where
does hope come from if it doesn’t come from this?
I
will never know how we continue to walk on
When
truth is a cold tear falling in the wind
But
the tenderness to gather your faint heart
In
your hands and go walking
And
watch the rising tide at sunset is a choice,
One
that says to your deepest core:
Yes, child, I am here, take my hand, let’s rise again.
After Midnight
it’s
after midnight and the sky doesn’t sleep
or
darken yet in this northern land
in
awe I walk out and take the forest path
sprinkled
with bursts of meadowsweet
and
red clover, basking under the midnight sun
I
watch the seven sisters, their glorious peaks
from
my side of the fjord to theirs
I
feel far from home in this cool exotic land
and
still I’m at ease in this place
maybe
it's the misty aura of valerian air
as
I walk through the yellow light
the
thrill that real wonders still exist
in
our world that glorifies the artificial
I
am awake, I am alive and walking
in
the midnight sun’s glow, in the arctic circle
in summer, in the city of Bodø.
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