“Some days I am more wolf than woman and I am still learning how to stop apologizing for my wild.” Nikita Gill
A Beautiful Wild
She was a beautiful wild,
like autumn reds
and winds of winter,
a wanderer of mystery
caught up in forbidden places,
daring questions in her eyes,
at the edge of truth
her ripeness in a
fierce without reserve,
a longing made perfect
in love’s embrace.
De at dVerse has invited us to write a Quadrille (44 words) using a form of the word filling.
“Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.” Khaled Hosseini (The Kite Runner)
When the moon fills your eyes
and the night shadows draw long,
then we will breathe as one,
bathed in the light
that hides in your dreams
and lives in your skin,
as tide that washes over until
we have danced into each other.
Photo: from hyperactivz.com and the story “Forty Years Ago This Man Planted A
Tree That Created Amazing Opportunities For His Island” by Lauren Fazackarly – The Story of Jadav Payeng who began planting trees at sixteen and is still going.
Please note: this is only one story, there are several stories from all over the world of people doing similar feats to greater or lesser extent.
“Society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they will never sit in.” Greek Proverb
He settled in the dust of his soul,
the sun beating down and
mocking his every effort
drawing his moisture to his brow,
and yet every day he rose and
without fail, made his way
to his field of dreams
that barren canvas of life’s struggles,
of course, without knowing,
passers-by smiled their condescension,
to them he was an eccentric farmer,
while in his own mind he was an
investment banker, and adventurer, a rebel,
and every time he planted a tree he knew
he was painting a masterpiece
whose abstract nature only he could explain.
Photo: found at julianlennon.com Volunteer firefighter holding a Koala rescued from the fire. The loss of species numbers is devastating and may never be recovered, placing some on the endangered list.
“We need a climate and environment policy that is fit for the crisis we’re in.” Sarah Hanson-Young
I Cry For Them
I did not weep for buildings and things, though I felt
for the plight of evacuees and the vast loss of flora
breaks my heart already so raw, but my tears, once reserved,
now flow in grief for the many animals consumed,
or wounded by this voracious, hungry, friendless fire.
Major fires burn across four states, two states have declared a state of emergency, the main fire in Western Australia is contained, but the east-west national road link is closed.
“The Monster is on its way to us ….” Liv Casben, Bateman’s Bay.
The Place Is On Fire
The warnings have been made,
get out now before its too late,
and you sit waiting,
weighing the moment,
counting the imminent loss
as the glow gets closer
and azure turns to puce,
smoke fills your lungs,
while it sounds as if you’re
standing near roaring surf,
as the monster draws near,
and soon enough whole
twigs and sticks ablaze
float past on thick
thermal waves and
sparks catch in dry grass,
the place is on fire,
down to the water we go.
Photo: Bush walking off North Road, Margaret River, so peaceful, and a great place for pausing.
It’s a transformative experience to simply pause instead of immediately filling up space.” Pema Chodron
Days are full when minutes need counting,
like rear lights on dark rainy nights
life blurs at the edges
and falls into emptiness,
an incomplete memory
trailing and fading, autumnal,
causing a semi colon moment,
a thought arises and time slows
feeding on silence,
holding self motionless with ease,
lost in rabbit holes unconnected,
“True beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.” Audrey Hepburn
There were times,
more than she could remember,
that a voice would say
take your beauty and trade,
however, while she valued
her external beauty
for beauty defined her,
far more did she value her
inner architecture being
a foundation for all that
seeks the good and the wise,
a real beauty.
“A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest … because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.” Terry Pratchett
I Cannot Be Sure
The darkly raven fixes me with beady eye
and discordant derisive rasp,
the briefest glimpse of silvered light
on fading leaves that shiver on
the breath of the restless ones
like tinsel in a breeze,
while the dank forest floor
slithers and creeps
in the litter of this quiet,
horned and winged things fill the air,
time slows and ice runs through my veins,
I turn to see what pricks me so,
a cloaken figure speaks
and yet there are no words
so I hearkened her eyes
which pierced me so
speaking long of dread,
of hers or mine I cannot be sure.
Photo: Wandoo tress at Mt. Observation, Mundaring, W.A. just on the boundary between Northam and York. This forms part of the Wandoo National Park and forest reserve in the Darling Range.
The Wandoo tree touched me,
it sent a leaf
which spiralled from so high,
on the warm air
it caressed my cheek,
we were hardly close before
but in that moment
there was a knowing and
the Wandoo tree and I were friends.