The leaves change here
Oranges and reds popping out
Amongst stubborn green
The wind shifts
Autumn comes to call
The world leans in here
Demands life to slow down
The quiet season is coming
The world makes ready its winter bed
Telling you to pull out your blankets
Candles and hearthfires
Demanding preparations for long nights
Wood smoke and hot chocolates
And much needed rest
gws
At the edge of the longest day
I gathered drops of sunlight into a bottle
Secured it with cord and hung it at my throat
Warmth and light illuminated my path
Freeing me to see that I did not only hold the light
I was the light and the light was me
As I journeyed through the crossroads
I shed the darkness I had allowed to consume me
Abandoned it like a wool cloak on Midsummer day
Moved forward ensconced in my own powerful light
Willing into truth I'd never be dimmed again
I exited the crossroads
The weight of unworthiness falling away behind me
I salted the path as I walked
Erecting a barrier against old demons who might follow
I reminded myself that joy cannot grow in poisoned soil
I vowed to never return to this infertile place
Gnarled roots and sharp thorns grabbed at me
Tried to hold me in that familiar barren land
I would no longer be held
My light became a glowing blade of will
And I rended myself free of the patterns of my past
Leaving them as sacrifices at the edge of this intersection
Of my old life and new
I followed the road's gentle path through new lands
When I came to a willow by a stream
Raw, ravaged and weary
I sat beneath its shaded canopy and allowed myself to rest
I wrapped myself in the cool, green safety beneath its branches
I put down my burdens
I rinsed my wounds
Lulled into meditation by the whispering water
I allowed myself to feel peace in place of vigilance
I listened to the birds above me
The crickets around me
I allowed myself to be present
I allowed myself to feel
The dappled light on my skin
The kisses of the sweet breeze on my cheeks
The cool, damp grass beneath me
The steady, gentle beat of my heart
The slow rhythm of my breathing
In that tranquil place
Of healing
Of new beginning
Of rebalancing
In that moment where I was
Obligated to no one by myself
In that space where I remembered how simple joy can be
I cupped the bottle of sunlight to my chest
And knew I'd never fear the shadows again
-gws
Springtime in the Bay Area makes me think that the emerald city could be nestled in the foothills
-gws
Seasons are changing
I’m surprised to find myself In
In a spring awakening
Possibilities bloom
While dreams grow deep roots
-gws
American Bison are commonly known as the American Buffalo
And are the national mammal of the United States
These grand beasts have evolved to adapt to the harsh North American Great Plains winters
They have vast biological adaptations to allow them to thrive in the volatile environment
They evolved physically optimized to survive
Yet their most fascinating adaptation is behavioral
Unlike nearly every other wild and domestic creature
Buffalo do not flee from the sweeping brutal storms that cross the landscape
They put down their massive heads and turn into the maelstrom
They meet the fury and ferocity eye to eye
They seem to inherently understand
The only way out is through
Resisting the sky is futile
The sooner the storm is met
The less time it has to intensify
The sooner they can emerge from its dangers
No wonder indigenous people hold them sacred
To meet the fury of nature unflinchingly
Steadfast and secure in the innate knowing
Passed down through generations
That buffalo are built to endure
Creating their own harmony with their world
Writing their own survival rules
Wise teachers for us all
-gws
I want to splash the darkening sky with rivers of fire
Purples and reds and luminous oranges of sunset
And the waters will abstract my painting in its dark mirror surface
Making an abstract of my realism
A dream of my reality
-gws
Spring has arrived
Birds sing sweetly
In quickening branches bursting with blooms
My winter soul peers out of bleary eyes
Before I pull the covers over my head
-gws
Isn't it funny how carpenter bees think themselves no less dainty than honey bees?
They faithfully believe the flower will support them even when the stem bends toward the ground.
They aren't exactly wrong.
-gws
The days grow longer
Promised manifestation
Renewal and hope
-gws
I want to revisit the joy of cartwheels in summer grass
Serenaded by the wing beats of bees and the chorus of hummingbirds and sparrows
I want to drowse amongst dandelions while playing
Warshak games with passing clouds in azure skies
I want to hide beneath curtains of willow branches
Making friends of the trees with whispered secrets
I want to run time backward
To when summer days were never ending
And daydreams frolicked in the warmth of long lazy unburdened afternoons
I want to sit suspended in the amber of youthful memory
Its glowing lens casting every scene in warm nostalgic hues
Golden hour light cast upon fading Kodachrome images
That compose dust mote-filled summer slideshows of my heart
-gws
Words Wishes and Wisdom 