Poetry

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I walked onto the wooden log
like bridge where I stood
looking over the steeped edge,
down into white waters frothing,
whirling, pressing against tree
boarded boundaries in a seemingly endless
force of currents,
rushing from somewhere upstream,
a place my eyes could not take me….

Such beauty unrestrained in Nature’s course…
and I felt the wind softly tingle my cheeks,
and I smelled the cold rush of the water’s gurgle,
and I heard tall trees whisper softly,
and I knew the place where my eyes could not take me -
was a place where deep-seated roots ran in
reservoirs of unrestricting
pleasures that flow unfolding
as rapids down mountain cliffs, splashing in
Winter’s icy air,
fervently tasting, wet thirsting,
yearning to emerge form this bridge
in uninhibited renewing passions of Being.

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