The great bear of my being
has gone into hibernation
turning its back on the grey skies,
grey rain, grey world,
yards running with mud,
ditches and creeks teeming with rushing water.
A great blast is heard from the hills,
where ancient trees are being
felled and shipped away
at such a great rate
the wildlife are dispossessed,
drifting into our yards, onto our roads,
in peril for lack of habitat.
I am helpless to remedy any of it,
beyond sending a prayer of pain and empathy
to a suffering planet and
the humans and non-humans
who find it increasingly difficult to live
upon its surface.
We are just past the full moon in Gemini
- the Cold Moon.
The greyscape hid it from view.
The fog hunkered down over the fields,
mist dripped down the arms of Grandfather Cedar
and tangled in the snarls of Old Man's Beard.
Salal became platters of sparkling dewdrops for fairies,
who do not mind the rain.
And already solstice is on its way.
Slowly the planet is tipping us
ever towards the light and,
with that brightness, the white swan of our being
will rise its arched neck into the hope
of another shimmering spring.
The cycle keeps us moving forward.
The light keeps us looking up.
The news on the television is still winter-grey.
My spirit turns away, seeking, instead,
stories and songs of transcendence.
In the transformation of consciousness,
I place my faltering trust and my diminishing hope
that this planet will awaken in time.
Yet I must believe, in order to live.
May it be world-wide.
May it be breath-taking.
May it be soon.