One who walked the logs
left a sign
P.S. I marvel that today’s high tide is so calm and wonder at the metaphor.
P.P.S. This one who walks on logs throws logs for labradors who love them:
happy water dog!
Posted in beaches, clouds, creativity, dogs, high tide, life balance, perspective, poetry, pondering life, Seattle, soul, spring, wonder |
Tagged carvings, driftwood, labradors, poetry, posterized photography, soul stories, sunset, west seattle |
Thanks to my sister for sending me this poem once.
By Alla Bozarth-Campbell
We do not want to rock the boat you say
Mistaking our new posies for something safe.
We smile secretly at each other sharing the reality
That for sometime we have not been in the boat.
We jumped, or were pushed, or fell, and some leaped overboard.
Our bodies form a freedom fleet
Our dolphin grace is power
We learn and teach and as we go each woman sings
Each woman’s hands are water wings.
Some of us have become mermaids or Amazon whales
And are swimming for our lives.
Some of us do not know how to swim
We walk on water.
If fluffy white
flowers really were wishes
awaiting your whiff
and a whoosh,
Oh, hello dear Dandelion
And you, I see you've already given out wishes
Here's one with a few wishes left
Oh, fragile unwished wishes!
Ah, magic wishes awaiting a wisher
Will you be my wishing wand?
You will? Let's dance before wishing...
I cherish each wish with a kiss and a blessing...
There goes the first wish...ppffttt!
Look! A sky full of fluff. Are those wishes?
A bouquet of wishes, thanking each thought in advance
Take a deep breath...
A seed of a wish awaiting a breeze...
Loading my bow, aiming my wish to the sky...
I wanted a wish so I whiffed and it whooshed and whisked away in the wind
And so with each wish i cherished and kissed, I planted a seed in the sky.
~ ~ ~
Posted in clouds, creativity, dandelions, play, poetry, pretending, sight, spring, wishing |
Tagged dandelions, poetry, pretending, wishes |
Never seen before
Maybe never again
in a curly sky
Playing with clouds and dandelion wishes
How tall is tall? Hip deep in weeds? Or flowers?
Imagine spinning slowly, fingertips touching wisps of wheat in wind
The magic of microvision. The lack of smellovision. The joy of spring.
good day. bad day.
bad day. good day.
it’s all in your a sense of perspective.
Posted in monday, perspective, poetry, purple, senses, sight, spring |
Tagged creativity, monday, poem, spring, weeds |