Secret Cove The barren season moves with stealth behind the scenes of autumn, steadily edging toward the razor cold and lacy veil of ice and crystal. Then suddenly she falls, winter’s glorious mystique reveals in a day. In sparkling white layers, she manifests and penetrates deeper than surface chill and snowdrift for earth and sea…
Category: Nature Poetry
Calculating Age
Age is that hard cold number that starts out too hot to touch and cools through the passing of seasons. It’s that thing you show off with sheepish glow and pride at two and a half and wave with banners and glitter at 21. Then the magic number pops up and you grab it to…
Barely Smelling Bacon
Barely Smelling Bacon Out on the lake’s edge in the blackness of a remote mountain cabin, she sits straight up in bed peering into the dark and blinking to see better. A creature is shuffling on the rocks outside, rummaging, and brushing against the outside log walls. Then scratching, is it the sound of claws…
Love and Beauty
Love and Beauty How we yearned for the earth to release, to let go its weightless gold and allow the revelation to fill our souls. And suddenly it bloomed, parchment leaf by parchment leaf shimmering in the light until our whole world brimmed with the treasures of unfolding fall. In those sweet …
Canyon Carvings
Canyon Carvings What words are carved of You Oh, Ancient of Days across these canyon walls? I see You, think if You, yearn for You in every crevasse. What is Your Name? What motivates You? All this glory around me tells me a story about You. But as it turns out, this is my story….
Extraordinary
Extraordinary There isn’t an eagle’s feather, pine needle, or postage stamp of sky that doesn’t silently shout extraordinary lengths— in this extravagant showcase of quaking life. It became necessary to span the distance between God and humankind. Our cosmos is a fading fragment of the unapproachable light in which He dwells. We…
Stuck Here
Stuck Here Sitting on the weathered front porch and watching the placid lake splayed before me in splendor and the dense, heady evergreens towering heavenward, I hear the wild geese honking and smell the pine. The morning sun scrubs my face with light—the kind that seeps to the bones and provides a certain depth…
Bluest Ever
Bluest Ever The Indian Paintbrushes are jealous of the Bluebonnets, and maybe that is why they riot along the roadsides and highways. Bluebonnets don’t care. They prefer to silently parade across the new sprung grass during their seasonal spell in the spring; and certainly, they do not compete with paintbrush strokes of garish neon orange….
Bonnie Saul Wilks 