At the Water's Edge

At the water's edge, I have found a friend.
The rhythmic lapping of each wave
is a comfort--I have come to depend
upon the starlit water, upon the deep blue sky
and upon the tinkling waterfall as it
rushes, passing by.

Not Brand New

Not Brand New

It’s not brand new, but it suits me fine.

It was your granddad’s, son. Then, it was mine.

But now it’s from me and I give it to you.

It’s worn some, here--bad, but it still runs true.

Hey, it’s better than…a poke in the eye.

It runs in the family, that-- you cannot deny.

Time will tell, if it holds up good.

Those new-fangled things—I’ve never understood!

It’s time tested; it’s well broke in.

Look right here—it just needs one pin.

And a little tape, use this well-worn string--

It’ll be good as new, ’case you’re wondering…



© Karen Powell

Through...

Sunrise (Glorious!)

Through the Thicket...

Through the Pines...

Through the Window (Veil)

What do you see...
through your veil?
Today, sunrise "Glorious"
beckoned me to get up
and to
jump
out of bed--
and to apprehend these
(photos.)
What have you,
then?
:-)

Foggy, Creepy Day

Ahead...

A Bit Creepy...

Where Does the Road Go?

"You Want to Go Ahead...Are You Sure?"

Foggy, creepy day-
Fog won't go away...
It rests around the mountain, deep
As if into our bones, it seeps...
It curls upon the hills and weeps-
Foggy, creepy day.

Local Stained Glass Art Paired with...Haiku on "Giving"

Fist full of pennies

Heart holds dreams not yet made flesh

Your help my ladder.

Stark...

Stark, wooded, quiet...surround sound.
Nothing fancy here.

Lost Photos...

Magnificent Orb 'Caught'

Sunset Yellow (off of Beacon Heights; Blue Ridge Parkway)

Wild Striped Sky

Here are a few random,
lost photos that I retrieved
of noteworthy spring color. I am thinking
that it can 'offset' the drab doldrums
of muddy browns and gray-grays
we are left with now, this snow-less season.
:-)
Enjoy your day!

Breaking Bark

Long legs waving back and forth,

I have, at last, found a tailor-made perch to sit and wonder.

The smell of brown bark, nearby pine and some still damp earth

are the scents that I smell, here.

And it is my resting place.

At 50 (now) when I spy a tree limb--strong, and sufficiently horizontal;

close to the ground, my mind goes back to this--the sacred spot,

in the low lying tree just two houses down from my safe, yellow, front-porched Milwaukee bungalow.

In this—my tree limb resting place, I am invisible. I am surely, of the divine. And I am more than a front porch traveler and bigger than a child.

I would sit here…and quietly (and privately) allow my own mind to wander and my own thoughts to spread out some, a bit. In this, my protected and much coveted place, I was allowing my mind to grow. Did the tree know this? Did it feel my groaning, too?

They say that when a tree grows it breaks its bark. Perhaps I too, was breaking my bark.

What better place to do this, than in a tree?

Maybe it was just idle time, but in this, the resting place--

to me, a girl of just eight, or nine and ten, it was legs dangling, arms holding, hair blowing, sunlight dancing, breeze playing, leaf wiggling, one leg flopping…bird singing me-time.

(My mother would say that as a somewhat self-centered, first-born child--I have, perhaps, always been good at this.) And I smile.

But I have found it useful still, to preserve, to hold fast to, and to cultivate my own playful, watchful, solitary, just-for-art eye. For, the more that I look, the more I see, in the splendid world of solitude.

My world is (much) bigger now, but long for-I do, the tree,

and (perhaps) my childhood innocence…

but more than this—

the supreme sense of wonder that it held.

I might add that--

as a still wandering and now-fully-grow’d-up young women,

I am perpetually lingering and in a semi-permanent state

of watchfulness for it.

Or is it that we, each, try…to go back home?

…Me to my tree, and you, to your river.