I stood out under the thick gray clouds
And listened to the bird song,
the roaring river flood,
watched the swallows
soaring overhead
cutting the invisible link between
earth and sky
with sword like precision
and wished I could stay…
I stopped the thought
pulling back the thread –
Coming here at all
was a gift beyond imagining.
Earlier I stood at the window
soaking in
flaming orange and ebony,
sharp avian beaks spearing fruit with skill.
A red headed tanager peered
at me through olive sage.
Redwing black birds hovered.
A banquet for this hungry heart
spread herself all around me.
I had forgotten about the moon…
She brought us the gift of two days
of rain that brightened each sage and lime
to vibrant green.
I picked redbud tree pods.
Twice, I
shelled and soaked them,
softening coats that
that gazed at winter through a legume lens.
I want to put down tree roots here –
not just shallow iris runners
(though I love them too)
but a sturdy taproot that grows
towards a fiery center
dives deep and finds life giving water
to succor her
when the desert floor heaves, splits, and
cracks from raw heat.
The star of summer has no mercy
for rabbit, flower or tree.
Only darkness brings cool night air.
I have a life here, I say.
Because it’s true,
Friends, a few people
who accept me
as I am – (more or less)
and I do the same.
This is a blessing
I have never known,
until now – except for one woman
who lives too far away.
And under a white wild-flower moon
that lies hidden behind
a sky rimmed in shell pink,
I think I hear the maiden whisper.
Has this possibility always been real?
Did I close the door in fear?
I was woven and spun
distorted by others,
and perhaps most by myself
into a woman that I was not.
But fate, like life, just is –
And even in uncertainly
I can feel the need for
acceptance of what has been.
That I want to
comply is already known
to that grandmother of moons –
the one with a hare at her side.
Hummingbirds sip
sweet nectar.
I give thanks
For what is,
and with some reservation, for what was.
It’s the best I can do.
At the river’s edge
I offer a song,
dip and fill my cup
with the moon’s blessing.
And as I climb
the steep mud swallowed slope
buff meets wet red ground,
the luminous stones mark
The path I meander…
Inside my dove and I
enter our room.
He sits on my shoulder.
I bless the dogs, the bird,
and also myself
in Her name.
Aphrodite and her Dove.
Meet Mago Contributor, Sara Wright.