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Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Path of the Feather

Path of the Feather

To follow the path of a sacred life,
To see the beauty of a feather...

~ Within a sacred space...for just one special moment ~

Pausing long enough to find yourself,
Pausing to pick it from the ground...

~ It sings to you of the makes you alive ~

A trace left by your native brethren,
A gift to make your soul come alive...

~ Following the trail of little bread crumbs sprinkled about ~

It whispers you are on the right path,
It speaks that your life is sacred again...

~ We are our own Shaman ~

Heathyre A Perara

Wednesday, April 21, 2010



I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don’t cut that one.
I don’t cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,  
an unseen nest
where a mountain  
would be.

by Tess Gallagher

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

The Lighthouse

The Lighthouse  (excerpt)

The rocky ledge runs far into the sea,
and on its outer point, some miles away,
the lighthouse lifts its massive masonry,
A pillar of fire by night, of cloud by day.

Even at this distance I can see the tides,
Upheaving, break unheard along its base,
A speechless wrath, that rises and subsides
in the white tip and tremor of the face.

And as the evening darkens, lo! how bright,
through the deep purple of the twilight air,
Beams forth the sudden radiance of its light,
with strange, unearthly splendor in the glare!

"Sail on!" it says: "sail on, ye stately ships!
And with your floating bridge the ocean span;
Be mine to guard this light from all eclipse.
Be yours to bring man neared unto man.

---Henry Wadsworth Longfellow--- 

Wednesday, April 7, 2010



I only wanted to hold it a moment
Before it took flight
I had gazed at it often
It had brought me such delight,

It's amber and black wings
So vibrant and light
Flitting from flower to flower
Hour upon hour
In the bright sunlight,

Then so cautiously I approached
Afraid to breathe
Afraid it would leave
It seemed to sense my eyes so intense
It became so very still,

I reached gently to hold it
No, it wasn't to be
We cannot capture beauty such as that
It must not be kept selfishly
For it was made by gentler hands
For all the world to see.

Nancy Ellen Crossland
Red Rose