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