One morning

One morning in an open field

I see a blue heron

Flying above are geese

Walking in the woods I hear song birds

But birds and other creatures are diminishing

Glaciers are breaking, drought is widening 

The air is getting warmer

Weather patterns are frightening

The Arctic terns losing their colonies

We are intimate of their extinction

Once, we love the earth

Try to shape it with our vision without understanding

Arrogant to admit mistakes

How is it that I have to ask

For a few good men and women

With courage to stand the challenge

385,000 babies are born in the world, every day.

They do not hide.

Holy Day

The day is so quiet

The pickup truck is still parked 

When it drives over the street bump

You hear deafening sounds of tires, metals and pieces thrown in disarray as if

A house is breaking

No sirens, no cars speeding to scenes of accident

Or hurrying to help someone with medical emergency

I open a window, see a young boy riding haphazardly his bicycle, oblivious of cars driving by

I hear the birds singing,

I hear their love calls

Today is Sabbath Day

In the story of creation, 6 days are good days 

The seventh day is a holy day

I see an elderly woman with her 2 dogs returning from her walk 

She starts to be forgetful

But she remembers her way back home

She is so amiable in her forgetfulness

She makes any day holy.


Sitting by a creek inside a forest

Your notebooks spread out

Over stones and ferns

Sounds of tiny waterfalls accompany your thoughts

The dimension of your existence opens before you

Oneness of spirit, wholeness one song.

On the porch, one day

Someone leaves a small heart-shape  wood carving,

Another day, a sketch of fiddleheads

Or a haiku

Kindness from unknown neighbors

Who will later introduced themselves

Retreat in the woods

Finding new friends threaded with similar

Attitude of solitariness

Learning how to be present

In the moment, to attend

Slowing of time

A time to feel and touch the earth again

With its ecstasy and pain.


Moments move our emotions, our life

How can I move like time

I am a humble hummingbird

Hovering over flowers until I am out breath

There is wisdom in the stones I will not know

Or a camaraderie with bees I will not experience

Where can I go my friend to touch the warmth of time

Perhaps I can find a child who will want a lullaby

My wings can sing her a song.


A pause

in his walk to glance


the curve in the road

hides who is following him

shadows bend like light around the sun

he resumes walking, 

whistling with every step

the headache recedes 

as he approaches the end of the road

he smiles when he hears sound of the ocean

he sits on a log on the sandy beach

watches the waves, the earth’s breathing

imagining God enjoying the sight

before the creation of man.


The kayakers arrive in the dock 

Like fugitives who don’t want to leave

They glide and linger in the water

Their green, yellow and red flotation vests bright in the sun

Their eyes are wide like a mountain of joy

They disembark and thank their guide

And talk incessantly of returning

They live faraway.

A Path

The child sweeps the leaves on the path that leads to the house

In the morning, and in the afternoon

He sweeps the path everyday

As if dancing , sways on the right, then on the left

Rhythmic like his heart beat

His face, serene, without expression, 

As if praying.

After he finishes he puts away the broom, 

Returns to his room, picks up a book

And resumes reading.