The Call of the Earth

Origins of scent,

in my garden.

Tantalizing the swaying breeze,

rustling in the leaves of walnut, willow, palm, plum, magnolia and bamboo trees.

The calls of birds,

hawks to hummingbirds.

Rhythms of fanning wings, melodic to the heartbeat of the graspable spring's quiete gurgling nurture.

The shadows of the night still breathing a cooling kiss before the coming heat of the day.

The smells crisp,

some dormant waking up from the sun.

Sung alive in ancient patterns,

nature's melodies, woven in the dance of birth and decay.

Layers intermingling, versatile varying volumes of cells threading crescendos for the senses.

Ebbs and flows tracing the tread.

Murmurs, choruses of calls,

elements speaking, to the fruits from the seeds we are reaping.

The echo of the flora and fauna,

the cradle to the footstep seen in the micro to the macro,

of the transcendent surrounding,

a reflection.

At peace,

prospering in hope and in spite of philosophical wars polluting the worth of our world.

Just listening and responding

With the call of the earth.

Today another day starts

Today another day starts

Another hour

Another moment

To be embraced

To be understood

To not be mistaken for the projection of oneself one is escaping

Right now

Is the beginning

Of the unnamed infinite inning

The state of bliss

Is when you seize to resist

When you give chance a kiss rather then to dismiss

To open ones soul

To surrender with the whole

With the senses with which one is capable of seeing

Seeding the reapings of the future we want to hold

Protecting the nature which provides what we know

Saving Us from becoming the dust of our own creation

Turning the fate of our own damnation

Drops

There is just the drop.

The drops filling the Ocean.

By light travelling through elements and time.

In the experience of different states of being distributing and gathering information,

nourishing the ground as well as being the past, present and destination of the life found.