Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: Summer’s Song

A summer day sings a choir of trees,

tonal brilliance leaping branch to leaf,

skimming long-necked flowers or snaking vines,

then at rest in clouds and dirt, pooling in our hands.

Wind is breath of heavens unknown, unending;

sweeping valley, summit, plain or desert;

across swamp, the sea and brook;

and swirling, fleeing about gorge and tunnel.

Summer succor is warmth laid upon our flesh.

It wakes sleep walkers with notes of invitation.

Music to romance the ones who must crack open to mend.

July’s tunes dance where there is no one hopeful

enough to move to rhythms of living–the times so

reviled, forsaken and stolen. Suffering, cries that echo.

But still, let summertime enter, settle, sweep out the rooms,

shore up the fearful or weakened, calm the proud or jaded.

Summer unfurls its golden streamers, builds such lattice of shadows.

It deepens the seams of what is torn then slowly repaired.

Find herein a refuge of beauty’s secrets; tilt faces upward.

What can we not love about this winsome repertoire of calls;

gold glimmer astride wings; sunshine-ripened fruits;

and greenness, a miracle of this our yet-turning sphere–

such power, promise cascading from chalice of an azure sky?

Listen. Attune the soul with sweetness,

for it ever sings, the summer, generous

and abundant, day in and day out,

and will most sing for us here, now.

Friday’s Quick Pick/Poem & Photos: Summer Released

Park walks 043

I have been at length in love, overcome
with summer’s glittery, crackling beauty,
its sheer points of no return in wildest blue
and emerald that trumpets a surfeit of life.
I’ve basked in its generosity, slunk about
in valleys and peaks that dazzle and sting.
I’ve slipped into fairy’s dusk as treetops shake
their big bodies, heat coaxes perfume from my skin.
Summer has courted me, wooed me enough
that I vow patience, loyalty, passionate gratitude.
I have opened my arms, been embraced, gained a healing.

Yet I am willing to prepare for it’s denouement, to
accept its blare of wild light and music will drift afar.
I am ready to welcome eruptions of rust and brass, vibrating
air and muted nights that stir an aria of autumn,
and with it another quickening. And the chiming chill of rains.

Winter even now paces in earth’s cavernous wings.
I sense its call but turn my mind to this reckoning.
Vagabond wind travels north and circles, speaks.
The days will sooner reveal a worn raiment;
it will loosen, float about, seeds of blessings.
I will find my way to other hallowed things,
freed in skittering leaves, captured in the cape of darkness,
the stealthy cold like a spell upon every creature,
a cocoon that deepens magic, unleashes dreams
and will weave me into the sweet, tender ache of living.

Park walks 028
All photos, Cynthia Guenther Richardson

 

Friday’s Quick Passing Fancy/Photos: Late Summer Beauties

All photographs by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

Far-ranging wildfires’ smoke has begun to clear at last so I spent an hour power walking. There was even a dab of rain that left its sheen for a bit. What a pleasure to get out again; this is a neighborhood of bounties. Typically I photograph lush gardens which flourish alongside varied, often historically significant homes. There are always surprises to admire. Some blooms have begun to fade as summer transitions slowly into the next season but there was still plenty upon which to feast eyes and spirit.

Come along on my cheery walk!

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

Friday’s Passing Fancy/Poem: Soul Sailing

Yachats trip, last day 092
Photos of Tillamook River rest area, Tillamook, OR. by Cynthia Guenther Richardson

That light is captured by treetops again.
It shakes free its magic and onto me.
I slide into a leafy river afternoon;
earth refines its song, music for living.
What is this tugging
at the corners of my soul?

It becomes a broad sail shining so I go,
passing by smallest creatures that
know me by my name and I, theirs.
This is easy falling in love,
sun riding wind caressing earth,
more sparks from the universe.
Everything is in this balance.
Whatever has been, shall be sacred,
revealed in cathedrals of earth.

So tell me: why do we hurt each other?
Do the skies wound mountains,
or mountains defy their forests,
rivers bleed cradling lands or
lands shun bits of stones hidden deep?
We claim the same privilege of life;
it seeks not to rend, never to ruin us.

Forget not the Giver who loves,
hold back no small act of honor.
Find the root and its branches;
they anchor us, one to another.
This I recall by glossy waters,
by the greenness of things.

There, light is captured by treetops again.
It shakes free its magic, onto me.
I slide, reach inside a bloom of sun
sheltering a summer sky, soul gliding
like hope to truth, heart to heart.

Yachats trip, last day 081