the sound of spring water

poems, pictures & heart

“We must not forget that there are still cave dwellers; the caves are in our hearts.”

~Kahlil Gibran

Cave Shrine, by John Parenteau

✧
holding to nothing, i
remember to forget
the burden
of remembering
everything else
✧

Cave Shrine by John Parenteau

✧

2/10/24

The spring hasn’t yet frozen, still dripping, soft and steady into the tiny pond near our house.

In it’s soft language, I can hear the howling coyotes and the wind, my daughter laughing, someone speaking my name.

At dusk, the snow turns blue. And gold. Blue in the shadows, gold in the sunlight. The snow reflects an incredible spectrum of light. I am consistently in awe. Today, the snow sparkles in blue, red, white, gold and green. Literally. The more I look the more I see. So many colors. Are they seeds?

photo by author

photo by author

I want to write poems and gather people and remember our bloodlines to the earth.

I want to speak of free water and rivers and tears. I want to show my daughter to dip her heart into a mountain stream and hear the chorus of devas chanting the mysteries. I want to melt into the bark of a cottonwood tree, become the fragrance of fresh snow on rose hips.

I want to sing as beautifully as the snow glitters at sunrise.

I want to offer my heart to the sun and watch as it falls back to the earth, a handful of feathers.

I want to know emptiness and heaven and become neither.

photo taken by author

✧
my daughter, i
plant
seeds of mountain
wildflowers
in your belly,
to bloom 
in the spring
of your life
✧
my daughter, i
plant songs
of our ancestors
in these forests
for you
✧
my daughter, i
am what i am
but even that
is seasonal,
blooming and
dying with these
forests
✧
we are, sometimes,
just
puddles of spring water
half frozen
in winter
✧

Thank you for reading, subscribing, commenting, inspiring.

Much love,

Leah