A Moment in Time

And so the lady bug, she crawls,

Across the leaf so carefully,

That the leaf feels only tiny feet

tickling its tender parts.

The child sees,

The child sees its tender crawl,

The Intricate pattern of the spider's web,

The sweet rounded edges of the hummingbird nest,

With the spider web weave and dew.

And perhaps a piece of grass or moose shed too.

The child sees the glitter in the rock, the circles in the pool, the dung beetle's mystery.

The child sees what the grownups miss.

The child sees no color difference, no age difference,

Only the magic of that difference.

The child hears everything,

The birds song sweet in its tune,

The anger in the voice of fear and doom.

The child senses, strong and keen; examines everything,

The dandelion flower, a drop of dew, the pollen dust, the earth taste too.

The oozing pitch, the tiny seed,  the tiny feet upon a leaf.

So, hold still your parenting, and listen to the child.

Allow and observe all the child can bring.

Enjoy each and every moment a child sings,

It is fleeting and leaves in the flash of a blink.

The Mystery of life.

I sit and wonder the why of things with no answers quickly coming.

I sit and wonder the how of things and they are dark with the light behind them.

I know not what the surface will bring, be it white, or dark, with shadows hiding.

I know not what the day will bring as I sit and wonder the why and how of things.

If I moved about now, would I see it all, I wonder and I wonder at the cause of things.

And yet to sit and wonder is to dream, not out loud, but quietly, inward.

So I shall sit for a bit and wonder the cause of things and sip my coffee slowly.

I sit and wonder the how of things, the where and why of things the goodby of things and people.

As we grow older this happens along the way. That being one of the pains and pangs of life.

We have to have the bad with the good. That is why belief was created.

If one can not accept the end-ness of a life well lived, one invents another existence.

Was that how religion was born. An Other colorless world full of niceness.

And then another world full of ugliness to keep us in line and believing.

I do not believe in that world of ugly-ness as we have that here.

And it is not separate and is not all ugly but colorful and full of interest.

Life is often a mystery, not given to letting us know what is going to happen.

So I will sit and wonder the why of things that are here right now and those to come.

That mystery and its cause and effect on the world we live in and those (other) to maybe come.

Life is what we create of it. What we cause of it to happen. It is not just chance.

And so I shall sit and wonder my why of things, that have come my way like a dance.

A dance I partake in, live in, enter into, with satisfaction of all that is in it.

That richness people bring to it and bring to it, be it color or sadness.

For that is what this life is all about, anyway: the hows and whys, and effects of things.

I shall embrace the hows and whys of the world to come or what I have left of it.

I will appreciate each day, with its richness and be thankful for it all.

Crow woman with goats looking out,

she cares too much and feels the same,

from deep in her center comes a yearning,

for her deep pocketed thoughts.

From deep within her core come the dark,

worries of future generations.

She ponders all that is leaving the earth.

She grieves for all that are gone.

She clings to the beings protectively,

for they bring light and life to her spirit.

Why of Things

I might ponder the why of things

The how of things to come.

Wondering the why of things,

and we can see no reason.

But there is a reason, I suppose.

Great minds will ponder.

The world is a crazy, crazy,

Spinning mass of overpopulation.

Dirty, filthy, screaming mass.

Maybe that is why.

The planet is headed for destruction,

Of all life upon it....except the cockroaches

And a few things besides.

Who will be left...we know not.

Some say by 2040....not so far away.

So we must treasure each day we have,

Look out at nature and take pleasure.

Wondering  the why of things.

The how of things to come.

I long for a vacation out of my mind,

to visit places both far and away.

All I need is the time to go and

then money to pay, day by day.

I long for a trip outside of myself,

To places I've never been

To see city scapes and mountain views

To capture images I've never seen.

I LONG TO TRAVEL OUTSIDE AGAIN,

To see the sights that wait anew,

To smell fragrances of oders on the wind

to taste the sweetness of outside too.

I long to taste the foods out there,

the spices I have not known.

I love to feel the textures anew.

And see colors in food closeby grown.

'

I sit and can not write on this sunny day,

The peckers are drumming on my wall.

It is loud and calling the troops to meet.

I hope they are hearing its call.

I sit and can not write this day,

My mind on other, mindless stuff,

I can't bring the words to mind this day,

It is turning to bits of fluff.

Birds flying around outside, doing their daily chores.

I stare from inside while doing mine,

Wanting nothing but to be outdoors.

Back to work as the coffee is down to the grinds.

But I long to be outdoors with the birds,

Nothing else seem to enter my spring set mind.

I will end now my silly words.

Ravens

As I gaze out my view I see you fly,

Swaying gracefully in the still, blue, cloudy sky.

Above and through, dipping, gliding, swings.

As if you were a flying carpet made of wings.

You are joined by others flying high,

Each of you missing, as you own the sky,

An inconvenience you chortle and shout out loud,

"We own the sky, we own you, we own the cloud."

At last you land on one tall straight tree,

To survey the heavens and all that be.