Archive
05/17/10 - (3)
Wooing
For four glorious mornings, afternoons, and evenings, I've wooed solitude, and she's wooed me. Together, we've pursued each other, incessantly, amorously, As if we were lovers, newlyweds on their honeymoon, Soul mates communing through eons.
Why is it, when I'm in nature's humbling, grace-filled embrace, Up here, on this northern-Wisconsin lake, That I feel so unencumbered, so unimpeded, So free to be the spirit-seeker who's been seeking me, These past three and a half years, seven decades, eternities?
All I know is that at the core of my deepest emotions Is a reservoir of passion more formidable than rapture, Which causes every breath I take to seek the source of being In each flutter of wind singing to me, from hymning tree limbs, Each gust churning the turbulent lake
Into waves that translate the sky, for my eyes to read, Each breeze that eases the eagle's soaring wings, As it clings, in its perfect thermaled circling, to freedom, Each molecule of airy silence that invites my lungs to inhale When I woo solitude and she woos me.
05/17/10 - (3)
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