Teachings from the Trees

Trail at Brady's Run

When you want a taste of wisdom,
this is a place you can come, this place
where the tall ones rise from the earth
and tower toward the sky.  Stand
among them and be still; stillness
is their first gift.  Feel how you are rooted
in the earth and formed from it.  Feel
yourself breathing in the light and the air.
Notice the dance of the life force
through your veins and the music
of its movement.  Notice
how it is not contained within you,
but flows with your breath, carrying
your essence outward into the air
to dance with the essences of grass
and flowers, trees, and ants and birds,
your note forming part of the song.
Watch the trees allow their leaves
to color and fall, the seasons
to change, time to flow.  Hear
them breathing the Yes.
Taste its essence in the air,
flowing into you and through you,
in its endless, boundless song.

How to Paint Autumn Trees

The Lake at Brady's Run

You can’t go from emerald to crimson overnight.
No great work happens in the blink of an eye.
First you need a vision:  Let us paint these woods
in autumn hues.  Then you may begin.
And once you have begun, you must keep on.
A swath of red here, a bit of gold there, some orange,
a touch of yellow.  Keep on.  Hour by hour,
trusting, singing work’s joy, knowing your vision
was born in the Yes and that the Yes
will guide your hand, unfailingly.


Soy Field with Goldenrod

Summer signs off with a crystal clear day,
her glowing fields ready for harvest,
her trees easing into their first autumn hues.
Such miracles she wrought, while we were wrapped
in her sunbright spell, dizzy with play and leisure,
mesmerized by afternoons that stretched on  and on
and ended in star-strewn skies.  Beneath our dreams
she whispered her song: Become, dear ones, become.
And tadpoles turned into frogs, and goslings grew
strong wings and learned to fly.  From blossoms
came seeds and fruits and grains.  Eggs became birds.
Caterpillars turned into butterflies.  And the earth
was filled with abundance and the sky with song.
Now, gliding into the smooth night, summer
takes her leave, her song flowing behind her:
Well done, sweet ones; well done.


A Breath of Gold: A Happiness Tale

September Lily Pond

Summer is packing her bags now,
saying her farewells, lowering the lights,
gathering her greens, ushering the last
of the songbirds toward the southern horizon.
At night, as she sleeps, autumn tiptoes in,
and smiling at all that she has done,
kisses her forehead and breathes gold
over the land to bless her going.