He Heard Wings The herons had not appeared for quite some time and he wondered if his presence had finally driven them away. He searched the deep sky above the lake, branches of towering firs, rhododendrons in the shade, and the reeds clustered in marshes and coves. All the places he had ever seen them before. Nothing stirred. A mild panic enclosed him. He needed to see them. To assure himself that he had not broken some vital chain. He began to dream of salamanders and small fish. In the flames of his campfire he heard wings. Eric Walter - from the book "Sounds from the Old Lodge" ©2004
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This was the sky over Portland on the morning of January 30, 2020. I shot the photo through the large window of Nikki’s room in the ICU, where I had spent a sleepless night on a recliner next to Nikki’s bed, holding her hand across the bed-rail, whispering and weeping. At one point during the night, she stirred and opened her eyes. I squeezed her hand and said, “I love you, baby.” She looked at me, recognized me, and said with a smile, “I love you, too.” These were to be her last words. Not long after sunrise, Nikki was transferred from her room in the ICU to an adjacent ward, into a room with no windows at all. I asked a nurse if another room could be found, pleading, "I don't want her to die in a room without a window." Around 3:30 that afternoon, half-asleep on a bed in that same bleak, windowless room, I felt the nurse tapping me and heard her say, “She stopped breathing.” I have no idea what the sky looked like then. Dust Off the Two Bronze Bells
Somphoun elects not to climb The 100 steep steps up to Wat Chom Phet Instead lies down to nap on naked wood. As I ascend alone, a mangy dog growls Barks fiercely then turns tail and vanishes Silent into the somnolent Mekong morning. The temple compound is serene Void of humans But a statue appears to breathe The Earth Goddess Nang Thorani Wringing water from her bibulous mane To drown the army of the demon Mara That would stay the Buddha From his meditation. I sweep the verandah with a worn broom Dust off the two bronze bells Enter the sim to sit in contemplation Beneath a lustrous crimson ceiling Carpentered firmament adorned With florid stencils in gold Mice, butterflies, peacocks, and bees Mythical creatures amid delicate feathers. In the corner, a shining gong I will never hear. You Continue
To Nikki My dearest love, you are No longer in the body that I used to recognize, the body That I walked with and made love to You are no longer in the form that Graced this earthly plane But you have not ceased to be You are here in other forms that I will love and always love Your bright spirit, your loving kindness, Your joyful energy and equanimity Continue You are not gone, you continue You are in the rain You are in the cloud You are in the flame You are in the smoke You are in the seed You are in the flower You are in the wind Your are in the trembling leaf You are in the snowflake You are in the sunbeam You are in the dusk You are in the dawn You are not lost You continue Always You are in my breath You are in my blood You are in my heart You are in my soul You are Always Late afternoon sun on
The jade sparkling stream I hear your voice in the riffles, soft currents Soothing whispers, tender murmurs And joyful sighs My own voice trembles to answer To sing you a song To speak you a poem Of deep running love and The deep grief I bear, Of devotion never dying Solid like the mountain, like bedrock But with words like the clouds Of yesterday Here then gone Like you, my angel My truest love. |