Poetry

Wide Skies

The flight of winds

  that beats me down.

Cold wind rushing by

  wide skies.

Samhain

Amber moon shadows fall on the watching stones.

Whose passage have touched memories shrouded in the womb of time.

We have all risen from that well and seen gods smile and sigh.

The wind sets the Morrigan free, to roam in the night of spirts,

 to dance as we remember.

The Last Sweet Smells

To kiss the garden, when there is no time but to kiss the garden.

A taste of the last, sweet smells.

Vibrant colors that are now painted over with an umber hue.

Fanciful meanderings of vines caught in the last morning alive,  reaching tendrils, large circular leaves upturned towards the warmth of the sun.

Dark earth sleeping, waiting in a close hug from the northern wind,  chasing the Hunter’s moon into a watch for winter.

But today, for the now,  oranges, reds, yellow, purples and greens stand in the long shadows of fall.

A colorful fanfare in its final, joyful parade.

Orkney Sunrise

The sunrise came quietly in. It gently poked the low, grey clouds and told them to wake.

It took the misty net of raindrops and scattered them like pearls breaking free from  a silkie’s necklace.

Blackbirds sang and bluebells swayed. The ivy’s firm hold relaxed as it breathed in  the warming air.

Thorfinn, the white cat, kept sentinel on his feather pillow as I stroked the top of his head  and tickled his toes.

And all around us the waves would come and go. The sounds of splashing water and the   oystercatchers cries played together in syncopated rhythm with the tide.

Mist was burning off the wide sky as time moved through the tall stones. It pushed the past  into the now so you could touch it once more and remember.

Yellow light lit the fields green as the crows played lazily on the sea breezes. Morning  took hold of the land.