Reflection in the Water

I walk down to the water,

cold as cold and be,

and down near that water,

can you guess what I see?

I see myself in full color,

skin, shirt and all,

and I see the sun,

welcoming the coming fall.

I smell the soft cold air,

I feel the gentle breeze,

and when I see that sun,

I slide down to my knees.

For what is more perfect,

the water or the sun,

they are both equal,

each other they do not shun.

For the water reflects the sun,

and the sun embraces the day,

the breather of light 

welcomes the night,

knowing his day is done.

A walk in the woods.

A while ago I took a walk in the woods. There is nothing like a good walk in the woods to ease your mind, and make you think. As I was walking, I heard the birds twittering and fluttering around and I thought to myself, there are still good things in this world. I thought the same this morning when I awoke. I like to take the early mornings to sit alone and think, or read. The birds come out to our feeder and keep me company. These are good things, happy moments. Far different from the latest news headlines. But it made me think, there are good things and bad things. We often tend to think or focus on the bad things in life, when we really should be giving it all to God.   We should enjoy life, and still see the bad things and wonder what we can do to fix it or make it better, or bring God into it. Prayer helps us, and we should pray when we worry, or fear or doubt, or hope. We should pray about everything. 

Pondering....

I often look at trees and wonder, 

Do trees think? I look out my back door every morning, drinking my coffee and thinking, as I look at that green beauty two houses over. Its a pine tree. It has been one of my best friends in the mornings. Trees make good friends, they never insult you, they whisper secrets to you, they give you comfort. John Muir once wrote, " I never saw a discontented tree. They grip the ground as though they liked it, and though fast rooted they travel about as far as we do." 

Birds are the same. They are curious, and try to get closer to you. They only resist because they cant trust a person. But when you gain their trust, they listen to you. They love to sing, and talk to each other in their own magnificent language. 

Keep close to Nature's heart... and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean. ~ John Muir.

Is it only a flower?

Is it only a flower?
That lovely orchid,
swaying in the wind,
would one think it had a soul?

Its petals drift away,
like time, so short,
yet it ignores time,
ignores the hour.

One of many colors,
how I wish it could talk,
it whispers too silent,
too silent to notice.

Some notice,
their eyes open,
to its wonder,
its beauty.

Walking Sticks.

I love walking sticks.

They seem to come in all shapes and sizes, varying from the short and knotted cane to the tall and slender hiking tool. They can be decorative, plain and ordinary or a tree limb picked out of some underbrush near an old oak tree. You are able to carve them, shape them, throw them at annoying people (you most likely wont do this). One walking stick, a cured cane that my Poppy carved, looks like an old man, the handle his hat.

Why do I love walking sticks? I love creativity, and things made by hand instead of machine. A piece of wood is not merely a piece of wood, it comes from a living thing, a tree or bush, and can be made into about anything, which means a wooden walking stick is not merely a wooden walking stick. It is hard work put into a piece of wood, and one of the best things in life, in my opinion, is standing back and looking at your hard work, and knowing you did a good job turning a piece of wood into a thing of beauty.

Carving brings peace too, in my opinion. Sitting beside a river or stream, or a bush or tree full of birds, or in a field with rabbits popping up out of the grass every now and then, you can carve or whittle and take your mind off of things. It is also hard work at times.

So when you see that ornately carved cardinal in the window of some store in the mountains, or that walking stick or cane sitting in some corner, remind yourself its not just a walking stick. Its a thing of beauty.

Just God and Me.

Below is by my grandfather, who I call Poppy. It is one of my favorite that he wrote. I hope you enjoy as he would hope you enjoy.

Just God and Me.

I walked through the quite woods today,

      All alone, just God and me.

And in His presence, I knelt to pray,

       And sought earnestly His will to see.

I sat alone with God tonight,

      And told Him all the burdens of my heart,

And in the darkness, I felt his might 

       As He bid all my sins and fears depart.

I awoke this morning to feel God's love,

     As warm as the morning rays of the sun.

And I heard Him call down from above,

      To tell me that I am still His son.

A Bird, so sweet.

We have all seen the capabilities of humans. Since we were made, we have been destructive in the most amazing sense of the word. But there has always been a peace to me, in times of struggle, war, death and pain, heat, or misery.

I watch nature, a world that does not cringe at the mention of capitol hill, or fear radiation floating in from Japan. In a sense, it is almost impenetrable, its deepest depths untouched by the foot of man, woman or child.

I love to watch the birds. I dream of their flight through the skies, cutting through the air like a scythe through the wheat in the fields below them. Landing wherever they please, they watch us with curious and charming eyes. They sing, beautiful songs about the early morning, or the cool fall afternoon. They wear coats of miraculous feathers, their colors and types various among the many, many species of their kind. The trees, their outstretched limbs gently scratching the sky, the wind allowing them to bow to their creator. The beauty of a tree is like the beauty of a bird as well, and when the bird lands on the tree, the beauty is doubled.

This is peace, true peace. I feel closer to God in nature than I do in my own house, shielded from harm in a sense, unfindable and if I were to die there, I would already be in Heaven.