On the estuary of the Grand Bay wind combs the trees, reeds, and palmettos. It says to the mad world outside this sanctuary, "shhhhhhh." Be calm, be quiet, listen.
"Turn away from your screens and your date books," it chides. "You cannot contain your time in calendars." Time belongs to the wind, the trees, and the earth.
Animals listen to the wind, as it speaks it's message of wisdom. They live in cycles that nature imposes on them. Harmony lives here among these reeds, these waters, these trees.
Along the horizon southern pines, brushy heads atop straight trunks, guard the estuary. They say nothing. In their silent station they provide homes for the birds and shade to creatures below. Osprey and sparrow trust trees to give them a place to perch, to take refuge.
In their silent station the trees stand. They thin toward the water's edge and come to a point where one stands alone. A commander for this immobile troop, he keeps his place.
The water, dark like iced tea and just as cold, ripples under power of the wind. Shiny silver bodies of fish jump into the air and land back in the water with a swish and splash. Are they curious about the space above them like we are? Do they wonder?
I wonder. I wonder where the feeling that swells in the center of me comes from. I wonder what source determines its hue. Today it is sky blue and reed green.
Today, right now, it is good.
"Turn away from your screens and your date books," it chides. "You cannot contain your time in calendars." Time belongs to the wind, the trees, and the earth.
Animals listen to the wind, as it speaks it's message of wisdom. They live in cycles that nature imposes on them. Harmony lives here among these reeds, these waters, these trees.
Along the horizon southern pines, brushy heads atop straight trunks, guard the estuary. They say nothing. In their silent station they provide homes for the birds and shade to creatures below. Osprey and sparrow trust trees to give them a place to perch, to take refuge.
In their silent station the trees stand. They thin toward the water's edge and come to a point where one stands alone. A commander for this immobile troop, he keeps his place.
The water, dark like iced tea and just as cold, ripples under power of the wind. Shiny silver bodies of fish jump into the air and land back in the water with a swish and splash. Are they curious about the space above them like we are? Do they wonder?
I wonder. I wonder where the feeling that swells in the center of me comes from. I wonder what source determines its hue. Today it is sky blue and reed green.
Today, right now, it is good.
This is a revision of the poem below. Critiqued by Dr. Walker. I am grateful for her! She is a beautiful, brilliant woman!
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