listening to nature

I hear the birds and I hear the branches
I hear the vehicles and I hear the leaves
I hear the people, the animals
and the machinery to keep us cool
and still
I seek to understand, to objectify, to name,
to satisfy my mind.

When my mind nudges in
for a turn at the microphone
she reminds me, again,
of past thoughts, past concerns
and future anxieties
I am trying to let fly away with the birds
I cannot see.

I hear these sounds,
I hear the music they orchestrate
but apart from the trees and leaves
I cannot see their sources.

I cannot see their source
and yet they are there,
they still reach my ears
somehow.

They come and go,
bending off and into each other
seamlessly
as if following a score
or being led by a conductor at the podium.
They trust in each other.
I close my eyes, expand my ears,
trusting the sounds will reach me
in nature’s perfection
without a need for rationality or manipulation.

Imagine, just for a moment,
the freedom, the weightlessness,
the joy,
of trusting that life will unfold as it is meant
if we are open enough
to hear it
to receive it
and to accept it.

see the forest too

Stop where you are.
Look at the tree, the single tree
in front of you,
and the one beside.
But also, look beyond.
Look out, at the giant forest
standing tall in the background,
where some trees in the front
can be distinguished,
but the further you look
the more they all blur together.
A sea of greens and browns,
needles and leaves,
rocks and twigs
individual, but collective.

When you cannot see the forest for the trees,
you lose the collective.
Stop, step back,
appreciate the forest
and your tree within it.

in-between seasons

This too will pass all too quickly:
the warm heat of summer
enveloping me as I walk out the door,
nurturing and nourishing life to grow,
drawing us out, to the outdoors,
to allow nature to care for us.

In the distance, the trees boast a new
palette of colors,
from yellow to orange to red
and every shade between.
Dollops of paint scatter on the ground.
A beautiful reminder of change drawing near,
for change is always drawing near.

But for now, all we have is today.
Enjoy this time of in-between seasons,
the shades of seasons’ grey
along the spectrum of white to black
with no right or wrong,
just now.
Just here, now.

Leaves remaining

Leaves remaining from last year,
maybe longer,
collect and accumulate in a pile
littering the ground with browns and dull greys.
How many layers are there?
All I see are the new ones on top,
hiding the older ones underneath
likely in varying stages of decomposition.

There they lie.
Rustling ever so slightly in the breeze
are the light, new ones,
settling motionless, heavy with age and water
are the the old ones,
the foundation.

Up through the middle though
lives a tree
growing new bright and green leaves
and blossoms of dark fuschia and cotton white.
So odd it seems
how life can flourish from the base
of death, of decay,
but my eyes do not deceive me.

Perhaps, the leaves offer comfort.
Perhaps, the leaves provide warmth.
Perhaps, the leaves supply nourishment.
But perhaps, the leaves are a hindrance,
keeping the tree in the past,
preventing growth.

Despite the offered comfort,
go the leaves must.
I gathered mine,
will keep gathering as new ones fall,
growing through and beyond
the past.