Come on a journey
to Listen to flowers with me?
If you listen closen to what is spoken
You’ll hear branches at bottom quite torn, almost broken.
The first day I arrive from Los Angeles to house-sit in the Sierra Nevada foothills, Bill, the homeowner, names the last three years and the few times they saw rattlesnakes each summer.
Casually, he narrates how he stands at a distance, takes a shovel, and chops off their heads.
I didn’t intend to risk my life for a writing retreat in paradise. I imagine the snakes might appear suddenly, anywhere midst these extensive gardens.
There are many ways to share your love,
Many ways to twinkle your heart-light from above.
[Imagine a picture of you here!!! Yes, you.]
Drawing pictures of Elena in her favorite color yellow,
The bluebirds practice yoga asanas
flying over the valley,
rise up, mid-flight land
on left or right oak mats.
The yellow warblers sing their chants
with mantras only their class understands.
Sun meditates on blankets of trees,
branches meditate on sun they breathe,
I meditate on my paucity of identity,
my full-of-thoughts, on the run to get free.
I bow into baby pose,
ask Sun: Illumine me!
I know this is a big job this morn,
many layers must be shorn.
I peek at the forest reverie,
where stands one new-grass green tree
midst thousands of olive greens.
From an unknown branch of a huge oak tree—
an unseen bird commands: Oooooommmm
in a low Tibetan tone: Come Home.
🙏🌳 I hope you enjoy this; 🦜 thank you for reading!
Swinging over the hill,
O Glory Friend,
O sign of Home,
O kind one,
I feel Your kisses
I feel G-d
The swing lulls me gently like a rocking chair. I can kick off the ground and fly a foot or so over the hill. These are the swings from a distance.
Goal: Ignite your heart, soul, and laughter with humorous, spiritual, psychologically healing stories informed by service as a clinical social worker 30 years.