Have you ever thought about

how a stream approaches a

rock that blocks its way? It looks

for a crack, an opening,

and then easily finds its

way while making beautiful

music for all to enjoy.

Frost on the ground and a nip in the air,

controversy over Starbucks cups and 114 dead,

twinkling candles in window frames,

Senate blocks expanded gun checks,

trees on car tops and Handel’s Messiah,

14 dead in San Bernardino,

decorations down from attic and wreath on the door,

a friend’s son killed in a crash on I-64,

sun finds diamonds in frost-kissed grass,

irate candidates fume and blame,

soft belly breathing and a bank teller’s smile.

All part of the tapestry of this complex life.

Like sprinkled sugar on a cake,

frost on green grass

and gray slate roofs,

air cold and fresh.

Maple trees display bare branches,

Pumpkins on steps,

Luna prancing,

on morning walk.

Business done, we head home, and

she calmly waits

for food, water.

Such a good dog!

Like the sound of an approaching train,

first distant, then gathering in force,

the breeze travels from Whiteface Mountain

through the narrowing gap

that is Osgood Pond,

passes through, then total silence, complete silence

before it begins again.

At night there is the haunting cry of loons

and the dark, silent white pine sentinels

that line the shore as young pines

snuggle up to those who have

withstood the ravages of time.

Sun drops behind the trees and

its reflection disappears from pond’s surface.

And then darkness only experienced far away from city lights.

On an afternoon walk, we see fresh-faced students

from a nearby college, armed with pad and pencil

to record what they know and do not know.

A wrong turn grows an hour to two

but adds a bridge across a bog

and the wonder of running ground-pine

pushing its shoots through fecund earth.

Moss-covered paths and the pond itself invite us to explore

secluded spots to read, to float, or just be.

A rustic tea house accessed by an arched wooden bridge,

a boathouse with kayaks, a rowboat, and canoes,

a ping pong table and ancient bowling alley,

and living treasures — lady hat pins, water lily blooms,

spotted frogs, hidden creeks, celery grass,

and a chance meeting with a woman

dwelling on an island in the middle of the pond.

For a time worries recede and I am at peace,

grateful for these moments

when Mother Earth embraces me

and rocks me in her

sights, her scents, her sounds.

Slowly we greet our bodies from toe to crown,

feel the strength of our roots

stretching deep into the earth,

grounded, stable, secure,

as we sway side to side.

Moving to the sacral chakra

we are both the beloved and the lover,

open ourselves to giving and receiving,

freely, naturally, gently.

We find our warrior selves and

roar with power, try out new stances,

announce who we are to the world

loud and clear.

As tall grass touched by an ocean breeze,

we softly sway to and fro

moved by the waves behind us

and open our hearts to all beings.

From twigs and branches we

build a fire, circle it, and

dance delightedly as it sizzles and cracks,

following then leading in our own unique ways.

At last we rest, melting into the floor,

and give thanks to our bodies,

grateful for what they have enabled us to do,

aware that they are always with us,

that we are one with the world.

With gratitude to our leader, Martha T.

Walk in silence and with each step,

breathe in, breathe out.

Feel the weight shift.

Listen, smell, touch.

Soft moss, hidden pond, gentle breeze,

orange mushroom and

ruffled lichen,

a hidden bench.

Trust that your flame will find the way.

Cease grasping and

absorb silence,

compassion, peace.

Washed clean of dust and pollen in

a summer’s rain,

lilies smile and

clematis stretch

while grass revels in its freshness

and shy gumpos

start to expose

white, pink blossoms.

Inside, I thirst to partake of

this clean earth, so

out I go and

lift face to sky.

Right now in this moment, only

this moment, an

onslaught of male

tree frogs pierce the

silence with hum of mating calls.

Far off geese sound

their harsh call, and

Luna’s collar

tinkles as traffic murmurs and

green grass stretches

to welcome the

sun at long last.