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Natural Events

Fog covers the town

or so I’m told

by those who tell.

Another natural event

that enlivens my heart

like the gathering of starlings

and the whoosh of them going,

the V of geese flying over

announcing themselves noisily.

Sunrise, sunset, the turn of the leaves.

The call of the elusive Kingfisher

and the cry of the hawk.

All of these simple miracles

tell me a secret I already knew

but love to be told again and again:

this life is a Russian doll

nested with gifts inside gifts

down to the tiniest prize

of the wren calling 

Good Morning! 

to anyone who will listen.

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I’ve come home, it seems.

Returned again to the place of my heart

where I’ve wandered before

with my stalwart companion.

The place where my spirit soars

and his runs free, ears flying.

I wonder, if I could no longer walk

for whatever reason

whether I might find such a place

within myself.

Could I, would I rise to the challenge?

People do, I’m told.  They rise.

People break and yet carry on.

Could I?  Or rather, would I?

I pray to the trees, the creek and the dawn,

the chickadee, the kingfisher and the heron

that I never need learn the answer.