How strong the sense of place.
We grow attached we do. Each place, each holding us close, like the rose petal holding the dewdrop fast, not absorbing but inviting stay.
Leaving my door as sun begins, entering woods, back roads, farms and fields little changed. I know them; deer, rabbits, horses, birds, dogs, families human. I remember them all.
A wave, a hello through the car window, a walk along in morning.
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Walking With My Shadow
Stretched out long
as if limitless in life
my shadow proceeds me
Arms stretched to touch
the ground, feeling the way
lest I fall
In the very joy of morning
light, other shadows have
walked with me
I remember and greet
them all
Come along I say
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Stones
Each stone, river worn smooth like the words
of a latin language rolling liquid off the tongue
In shapes pleasing, disc, oval, heart; colors grey
and yellow, green and tan, speckled and lined each
carrying the memory of the water that shaped them
They fill the dry creek bed now in sun bright, a shadow
lingering creeps across, the way the cold of winter
waits just off the summer stage only to slowly enter
through the darkening Autumn
Each plant knows my touch, the hummingbird
stops from blossom to look, a squirrel up on hind
legs peers into my eyes, curious and trusting
In ways large and in ways small my self has entered
this place and been accepted
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Unsettling
A time of looking
in albums worn
at lives full lived
as though reborn
How is it you know
the end when beginning
has just begun to show
the twists and turns of living
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A walk in the rain
gave way to ease on the porch
Full clouds gathered darkening
the sky and quieting in the way
of twilight come early
A sweet smell of rain-filled
air cool in breeze and patter
of drops to roof and leaf
flash and thunder clap
A porch that holds us
in sun and storm for
many moments now
and gone
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Sunrise
Bright flower heads were turned
East to the sun
early rays leaving long shadows
The end of the gravel road
turning to return
greeting the holy morning
A sky of cobblestone clouds
little puffs of white
on a field of spring blue
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Country Place
The grass so carefully tended a
blanket pulled easy over with
woven flowers of yellow and red
Workers in rake and barrow moving
among the headstones putting finishing
touches on the newest to arrive
A lone goose down, woodpecker high
above, the white chair empty by
the open barn door
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Pondering
I watched a blue tractor
circle the riding ring
its front scoop held high
with steady breath round
and round it went
In markings of red and brown
cantering intently its rider deep
in seat, heels down, moving
up and down in perfect rhythm
pony tail to the breeze
Nearby he stood, square in stance
ears forward, watching his mechanical
self in movement familiar
round and round
round and round
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Light Against the Rail
Hello I said
passing by her
eye on mine
Alone she seemed
her body light
against the rail
Brown both, sleek
in the mist of
morning.
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The Ferrier and the Vet
Living in horse country
these are welcome visitors
their trucks well known
(to human and equine )
Slowly traveling down the
country lane like doctors of
old, break of day or past dusk
(shoeing and remedying)
Forty years now so, changes
yes, a new family, a new horse
up a generation but steady
(water changes but rivers remain)
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Hope
Mick was talking about
dandelions, the big one
downtown but my eyes
were on the cottontail
by the chicken coup
and the rooster crowing
Magnifica Humanitas is
what the pope said, in
Yoga we say honor the
divine within hands
folded heart center
Somewhere it resides
Invasive hope they are
looking for, my bets on the
cottontail and the dandelion’s
not too bad
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Camino
A crises of two coffees at the bakery today
She had her foot looped holding open the
door while arms outstretched reaching for
her coffees
Not quite, caught in that awkward moment
suspended
But I have two coffees she said as the barista
placed a hand on the door and I carefully placed
the two cups in her hands and she slipped away
We smiled at each other, the barista and I
Yellow flowers in concrete pots by the
gas meter pipes, morning traffic stops
then again up, vines covering the wavy
glass windows and old brick walls, people
lovely people each a world unto themselves
looking at me looking at them
To sit out, face in the morning sun sipping
a coffee and watch the world go by
Its not the river but its not bad
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The sky is not
…..confined by the gaze
……….of your open eyes
Nor is love
…..confined by the touch
……….of your hand
……….In your mind
…..is today and
tomorrow is yet
……….This is what we
…..have this time
what we are
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Foster Falls
Today I walked by the river
a day in May nearing summer
almost-leaves were on the trees
blue was the sky and clouds also
bright and billowy, belly faint grey
having loosed their rain windward
A spring wind and red-wings on
the bank, there were soaring birds
rising on the warm air by limestone
cliffs the river over rapids making
river sounds soft filling all the space
How is it we lose our way so easy
The river flows north, the sun behind
me west, red-wings dart from the trees
over water and back again
All know where they are going
Once I dreamed we were on this journey
this trail, this new trail that is so old
moving briskly with the water, wind at our
back confident, happy
We rose, lifted effortlessly upward into
the sky and were gone
It was lovely
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The Old Farm
The old farmhouse on Hall Lane
marks the east-most outpost of
my morning walks
A clover leaf window crafted
in the north facing gable, its three
panes in a scalloped frame a pendant
lovingly hung by a skilled hand
Dairy farm, big hay barn out back
burnt red, cows lined for milking
He on a three-legged stool bucket
in hand
Pressed metal shingles now faded
grey on clapboard white siding
brings the age to two hundred
Dropping his hat on the porch
milk bucket full, he enters unseen
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It is good to turn
the earth
Buckwheat tall
white in blossom
A garden fork
solid in my hands
soil rising up in
breath falling back
Raising up breathing
and falling back
a meditation all that
comes changes and
recedes
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Salem Square 4th
An easy walk to the square
shade from tall trees now
easing the early morning heat
On this ground so many
hundred years gathered
those who yearned to be free
The band assembled in rows
songs from the first day songs
from the many days past
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Rain’s Return
The first raindrop felt, a light touch, a breath even
Welcomed as one lost, now returned
Wind stirs the leaves, branches twist and bow
in dance, halls full, patrons of the forest
Lost to be within the clap and boom unsure
is this where we belong, like rain we fall
windblown travelers to the sea
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Stars
From a distance they
could be stars
blinking through our
atmosphere filled
with majesty and wonder
Humble though, along
roads small in the darkening
woods their tiny bodies
glow yellow in pulse
streaming in circle and curve
Starlight they are
Starlight they shall be
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Friends
Two women stand on the porch
a dog facing out, white and stocky
Screen door between, they wait
for entry or exit in the way
summer waits for fall
Friends, they visit, intersecting
and independent, on their own
Back a trailer, load a horse
pull the bush hog through
the grass field
Hair white, a weathered face
dust rising off our road an
elbow out the side window
rolled down to draw the morning
air into a smile
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Coming in From the Rain
is like coming in from the
moonlight because
it is dark
Coming in from the rain
is leaving the question
unasked, the stone unturned
Coming in from the rain
is seeking shelter from a
storm you need
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A Day at Market
Crowded this early morning a
slight cool breeze the kind
you get when the sun first pulls
the light out of the earth
A portent of heat hangs over
the farmers in close tents
their fingers wearing the
colors of work in earth
In line we stand to each
stall, basket in hand and
temperature rising faces
open and manner kind
Time slows and patience
grows without the new
world, remembering
what we have left behind
As old as time, a market
a simpler life where the
rooms of your heart are
restored in peace
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We are all just walking
each other home
……….R. Dass
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