Our Story

Sparrow sits on her branch and
greets the Sun,
as Hawk wheels high overhead.

(Blue-jay sits on a tree and mocks, he is at peace with it.)

Out from the burrows crawls tiny Chipmunk,
and his comments are in his chatter.

Snake feels it all, and
by the winding stream
Deer sneezes: a revelation.

I speak with
Squirrel as she gathers stores for the long
Winter's night.

(This is our story, and we belong.)

The stars sing a symphony to the ocean; the clouds weep with the beauty of my heart.

Out of the sea of stars,
the song reaches me.
It stirs me, so I write.

The dance of seasons
speaks
of greater lore.

There is truth here, and life.
(And Death in Truth, a cycle of
Life. )

Ages pass and Possum hears the tune,
plays at death and
hints of things to come.

(This is my Story,
will you dance?)

We speak and hop
from stone to stone,
like Toad in his endless pond.

Live and Breathe.

The Beginning is the End is
our Beginning.

My Song, my tiny slice of Heaven.