Tag Archives: poem

Autumn Contemplation on the Bruce Trail

I spent the weekend with these harmonious souls walking a wee part of the Bruce Trail on an Autumn Retreat with the theme, Letting Go. The trail was quite difficult in parts and because of the drizzle, it was also slippery. This meant that I needed to pay attention to where my feet landed.

This part of the trail is in wine country. So one is constantly hearing the boom of canon’s being set off in order to keep the birds from eating the maturing grapes. It’s an interesting juxtaposition of nature sounds and booms.

One of our retreat facilitators led the walk and the other came behind to make sure no one was left behind or in trouble. This was very comforting.

We sat on the moss, without words.

This is what I wrote:

Long before….
long before.
Long before your were conceived of I Am.

I Am the falling water.
I Am the smooth rock.
I Am the soft green moss, carpet for your weary rambling.

Long before…
I Am the smell of the decomposition.
I Am the fragrance of my tears on fallen leaf.
I Am the sound of rain dripping from the canopy.
I Am the swirling eddies.
I Am the calm pool.
I Am the water against stone.

Long before…
I Am the ancient gnarly roots.
I Am the hidden nest in the branches.
I Am the cool breeze.
I Am the cleft in the rock.
I Am the canon boom protecting the harvest.

Long before…
I Am the rich hummus.
I Am the skirt of yellow.
I Am the blanket of red.
I Am the evergreen.

Long before….
I Am the joy of birdsong.
I Am the slippery foothold.
I Am the steep climb.
I Am the glacier’s path.

I Am your deepest longing.

Long before.

Because I did not take my camera I have used this photo from Richard Olley’s blog.

 

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Laying my Burdens Down

basket

THE BASKET

My arms are full
clutching balls of burdened wool
all so hard to hold
as they each unravel
their sorrows.
Spilling strands of sadness
down from my weary arms
onto the waiting floor.
Struggling, I try to hold onto them all
Try to bring the straying strands
back to me, back to their skeins.
It is a tangled mess
Impossible to unravel.
Too much confusion to comprehend.
Overwhelmed with exhaustion,
I notice a
beautiful basket
waiting on the floor beside me.
How is it that I haven’t seen it?
Has it been there
all this time through my struggles?
Kneeling, I gently place the mess of burdened wool,
The sorrowful skeins
Into the basket,
Laying my burdens down.
It is still a confused and tangled mess
But I stand tall, free and unburdened.
The confusion is still there;
I can see it, and it sees me.
But I carry it no longer
close to my heart.
I have let it go, released it.
Finally free
No longer do I have to struggle to untangle
each mess of sorrow
For now, I am content.
Maybe one day I will pick each one up
Try to untangle,
Try to make each one whole again.
But for now,
holding them
no longer
consumes
Me.

Sheri King Ward, 2014

photo by Evelyn Ward de Roo

photos by Evelyn Ward de Roo