I know that I am getting rested because I am writing poetry again. I love that white-hot blitz that ascends from descent and overflows the soul until it empties to fill again. That’s how creativity works. The rise and fall — ebb and tide. All of it comes because we “live and move and have our beings” in the Creator of the universe, who gave us His Son.
All of This
Sleepy eyes of spring gaze
upon the crisp, snow-laden
banks of a wrinkled mountain creek.
Morning light melts the crystal
silver mist—that shroud dividing
day and night—just a breath
before dawn swallows the dark.
Great forests thick with trees, dripping
with pine, spattered with sun.
Open meadows, lush and
bright, quiet pools of snowmelt,
shimmering images etched
within in the deep. Elk moving
over the sagebrush and up
the rocky slopes, the bear in
the tree, bighorn sheep over
the craggy crevice, marmots
and beavers—tiny creatures
woven into the soaring
rocks and soil. The thirsty deer
at the water’s edge and the
golden copper of aspen bursting in the
slow of autumn. Snowcaps staking a
claim on the peak turned crimson—the
alpine glow of sunset. The blue
columbine and evergreen
raising heads and arms heavenward.
Falcon, hawk, and eagle see it
all rushing upward on bitter
northern wind and diving again
to the placid water retrieving a
day’s reward—fish to eat upon the
highest cliff. The banners of life teeming,
whipping in the wind. Sparkling stars
shouting across the silent, inky sky.
All of this, thrills me—lifts me to You.
~Bonnie Saul Wilks, Estes Park, Colorado, June 3, 2011