Cloudy tendrils cling to hillsides
As a child to its mother on school’s first day
The bus driver beckons
Come, this way to new worlds
Mother’s kiss lingers on rosy cheek
Solid and eternal as the hills
Cloudy tendrils cling to hillsides
As a child to its mother on school’s first day
The bus driver beckons
Come, this way to new worlds
Mother’s kiss lingers on rosy cheek
Solid and eternal as the hills
A flourish of green
An explosion of new growth
Transiting seasons
I leave him
As an arc of energy
From the light
Which taught me love
Into a darkness
I once feared
But accepts me
With a grace
And love
Greater than any
I have known
Even his
And in that moment
The darkness itself
Becomes light
Transitions
Whether, in the end
For the better
Or for the worse
A matter of perception
But in transitions
Themselves, I always find
Some beauty
Large or small
A few grains of sand
Knocked loose by the breeze
Skitter down a miniature ravine
Knocking loose a few more
Along the way
All coming to rest
With so many other grains
Collected in a miniature valley
Slowly filling up
With grains of sand
This insight says as much
About my own life
As about art
Acts of creation, both