Author: simon13Page 1 of 8

It’s only when I’m still that the dust
of thought settles and I see again.

Today I want to be with the birds and do bird things…

I hope I never cease to be filled with wonder when after the rain, the sun comes out.

What if we become transparent to the world…

Coming home isn’t just to a place…

Take me home to my place in the land…

Today I listened to the lake ice creak…

Like a good animal I lie down on the damp ground…

The seeds of spring are always…

When I’ve got my eyes on what’s next, I stumble over today.

So curious, I reflect one breezy evening…

The setting sun…

You’re carring a big pile of sticks…

Every year around this time, water starts flowing downwards…

When we’re wanting more,
when too much is not enough,
we find we’re running hard away from the home where everything already is.

Under the snow the ferns grow ready because they know spring is.

You, dead seed head who survived the winter…

I like to remember beneath the roiling waves of the stormy ocean…

After a hard day on hard plastic…

The day we stop being awestruck
by the tiny bird that flies upwards through the trees, is the day we die a little.

This evening I will close my laptop and go stay with the birds and the trees…

Amid the ice and mud I find a clover…

The best and most important things won’t be named and defined…

I want to be a cog in the world…

It is possible we’ve got it upside down and back to front?

Once upon a time I told myself a story in my head…

There’s something to learn from the bare tree in the snowy field.

Outside our houses and outside ourselves we’re still and hundreds of lives announce themselves.

Just look how the light from the sun…

For the past few months I have driven from my house to town and back again…

Today I will sit and watch as the trees stand tall and let the wind bend them.

A wonderful thing about a thunderstorm…

Get a taste of the air and sample the world…

Busy squeezing the thrills and pleasures from our disappearing lives yet forgetting to open our hands to receive what’s already there.

Do the birds realize how much they help?

Curious how in our lives of change…

Home is a place we can retreat to…

There are places we can’t leave behind because they get into our veins…

Learning to live is like learning to swim. It happens when you let go of the side.

When I was very little I liked to lie on the ground amid the tall grasses…

Oh, you animal, soggy from the rain…

Sometimes, I find, it helps to half-die to the world…

First there was snow and then there was rain and then there was ice.
And still the squirrels ate.

Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be water…

I wonder how many times
I’ve missed a connection with a soaring hawk or a waving tree because I’m thinking what to have
for lunch?

Each morning I waked to trails and tracks…

I’m thinking of the bird that flew into the window…

The boldest thing we can do is sit with the loudness of silence…

Some days the sun rises with a roar…

Could there be anything more glorious than the way the low February sun falls on the trunk of that white birch this afternoon?