Thursday, October 23, 2014

Thursday Poem - Unchurched

Autumnal sun streams through
these yellow maple leaves
translucent as stained glass.

The ground beneath my feet
is strewn with pine cones, acorns.
The random pattern of continuance.

Etched columns of pine and oak.
Incense of resin and fungi.
Great glacial stones for altars.

High winds and choirs of
minor breezes, the whispering hush.
It is the Sabbath. It is enough.

Dolores Stewart
from The Nature of Things
(printed here with the kind permission of the author)


One Woman's Journey - a journal being written from Woodhaven - her cottage in the woods. said...

Speaks to my heart....

Paula said...

"unchurched" is the most specific word I have ever heard for this experience. I used to have "great glacial stones", but for now the carefully curated tree cathedral scheduled for selective cutting will have to do. Thanks for your posts!

Unknown said...
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