Least a tear for Fukishima

I cry for you, dear Fukishima, for you, the earth and the wind.

But, be it known by man that Earth does not brag nor boast or mourn for beauty lost.

You, earth, are the bedrock and the foundation from where I stand.

A deep presence is concealed by your vast landscapes.

Surfaces textured with grass and stone cover your soul, my bedrock.

All the while, you sing from wind-shaped crevices, and hum from a gurgling brook.

Tears of joy gently fall to your surface and lately cries are felt from heaven’s arms.

As we continue to tame your wild frocks.

The land, your land given on lease to me.

Was once understood by the ancients, yet now lie barren.

Are we all but yet exiled?

Out of the reach of our original soul, blind to outer worlds of light and form from where we arrived?   

Least a tear for Fukishima that lays into the ocean, tainting and taunting. 

© Ron McFarland, Highervista, Cowboy Haiku

Bending Light

The light bends over the new horizon of a welcoming new dawn.

Light coaxes the dark slowly away.

Shadows of the night roll up and the morning sun fingers its way under the pines.

The trees, mountains, and open spaces are once again released from the cloak of darkness.

Each day is another face of God.

I am but a soul made of clay and the ground that I silently walk on.

My ancestors walked this path once before and now silently step with me in my exile in this forest clothed in Aspen and Ponderosa.

The colors of an early autumn bleed unto the canvas lay before me as I carefully place each foot on the path destined for my next journey.

It is the heart of nature that I seek and the soul of the presence that I long for.

I look for you, my companion, my love, in this side of the escarpment from where I find solace in bending light.

© Ron McFarland, Highervista, Cowboy Haiku