As I walked the dog early this cold winter morning, I looked up at the star filled sky, heard a flock of wild geese as they flew above and in the east, the horizon beginning to grow lighter as the sun began to rise. I came home and wrote this haiku on what I saw, looking around at my place in this world, seeking to find poetry in a simple walk with the dog.
The river flows dark and cold memories dance down this viscous highway sparkling eyes of a young girl dreaming of her lover across on the other shore a lone bell rings echoing across the valley reminding her of loss the river flows deep and muddy where bones lie quiet and catfish roam
There are a thousand stories to be told before they are lost in the wind. Each story contains a glimmer of the true self, the one hidden by the scars accrued over a lifetime. The bitterness that comes from a lost love, lost dreams, lost desire, the losses we wear to cover our hearts true nature. In the early hours, before the sun has risen and the world is quiet, if we take a moment to sit in silence we may hear that small voice calling us to strip away those layers, to lay naked once again before God.