I can barely believe it
It’s midsummer again.

The fountain in the birdbath
Bubbles away,
Powered by the sun,
Measuring time
With irregular beat,
And form,
That is never the same.

Then without warning,
Although,
in hindsight, I knew,
with regular timing,
This time of year,
The sun disappears
Over the hill
And as with the sun,
The bubbles go too.

Stillness and hush,
Descend like a veil,
The music, stops dead,
The water,
So dark and mysterious,
Liquescent and Gloomy.
Full of Woe and Tears. But as in a dream,
Prism winged beauties,
Come to dance on the gloom
Marvellous, tiny bodies
Creatures of the night air,
Swirling, Skimming,
Awakening the pond,
Sculpting the tears
Into crowns of setting suns,
Circling in the darkness,
Circling out to the edge,
To the edge of infinity,
Their destiny cast.

And a gentle breeze touches my face.
Again.

 

—Shamanic Collection
—2000