I walked.
The sky threw off its dawning uncertainty.
Declared itself Blue.
Definite, clear.
Crystalline like the Pink
of the camellia I carried.
An offering to Ancient Oak.

I walked.
The wind caressed my face.
I flung out my arms in embrace. 
The pines sighed
and I wondered, “what if I had never heard this sound before?”
The pining trees—are they not wondrous?
My ears, now awakened, caught the whistling dove,
the hollow clatter of the woodpecker, the twittering sparrows,
a train’s whistle, carried by the wind from miles away.
And I wondered,
“Where had that wind been before it met the train?”
It is cold, carrying tales of white and ice on its breath.
I hear the crunching of ground beneath my feet,
the train’s whistle, and the wind which has come from the pole.
Is it not wondrous?

I left the pure, pink camellia
in the arms of Ancient Oak
Laying my hands on its trunk, reminded
I am of this world.
I am of its cycles
Permanent impermanence.
And in my impermanence I am free
To be in this moment
In bliss.

 2013-10 Sacred Oak 1824


Add yours →

  1. Wondrous, like the train’s whistle and the wind, the camellia and the oak.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Beautiful images. Thanks, Nadia

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Absolutely Stunning Images : flower perfect, tree strong. Your text? I remain your ardent and steadfast fan.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. The oak would love this portrait, Nadia. When I come upon one of these beauties this is exactly how it shows itself.

    Liked by 1 person

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