The woods are brown and the trees they are bare,
Seductive and mysterious, a chill in the air.
The feel of the earth, so crunchy and soft,
I walk them alone, the cool morning frost.
Anticipation awaits us, change we will see,
An eventual white blanket, will coat every tree.
It’s as old as the ages, as sure as the sun,
The coming of winter, another season is done.
Witches and goblins
A fine trick or treat,
Begging for candy
For something so sweet,
They’ll knock at your door and threaten your house
Unless it’s candy you give, you wretched old louse!
The trees of fall they bend and sway,
All in the promise of a crisp clear day,
But the cold nights come with hopes anew,
With blades of grass now soaked in dew.
The leaves have fallen, the sky now clear,
All beauty in time, my heart holds dear,
But we all stand alone when our fears do take hold,
The change of the seasons, a story is told.
So as time marches on with loss keenly felt,
Our hearts still in place, the cards have been dealt.
After winters fine wrath has wiped the slate clean,
A brand new beginning can start to be seen.
Jase sleeps beside me
Quiet breaths tell the story
Of a peaceful soul
Dreaming, man’s best friend
Chases friendly visions of
Nocturnal delight
Nightfall
Cyclical joy
Orange glow tells a tale
A veiled uncertainty waits
As darkness surrounds my essence
The hours of peace
Shower my life
With love
Winter
Dark swirling clouds
The slushy cocoon, a blessing
Intense
(Cinquain 2, 4, 6, 8, 2)
He waits
Seen from afar
Calm, sweet patient longing
Words escape the obvious want
He waits
Subconscious delight
Dreams await sleeps fine rhythm
Seeking to act, sooth
Breaking through the murk and mist
Of mindful diligence and unconditional cerebral salvation
Rain
Slowly Falls
Voices in the hall
Heard as the comfort of sleep
Approaches, the not knowing
A gift to cherish
Forever
Peace
Cinquain-1, 3, 5, 7, 7, 5, 3, 1
The air is cool as the leaves fall gently to the ground. Silhouetted against the icy blue sky, the mind heads south, trying to escape the wrath of the coming winter.
Summer tries to hold on, providing false hope to all.
Still, the scent of icy inevitability urges us on, a reminder that time, in its cyclical beauty and in alignment with each season, can not be counted on to preserve the past.
But the past continues to dominate, caressing each memory, changing them to align with our reality, making the unpredictably of life what sustains life.
The Zen Hiker 