cliffsIMG_7111 2

 

Go into the mist

 

Where the great light falls

 

Where blue flowers gleam

 

In the winds of dawn,

 

And the owl calls

 

Softly, in her deep tone.

 

Go into the wild where

 

The one with no name tells a luminous tale

 

Of the star forest.

 

Out onto the green hills of peace,

 

Go where the mists of the mountain meet,

 

Where the unkempt stream

 

Grows out of the tall cliffs of stone,

 

Where the bright feet

 

Of the moon

 

Skip on the winged waves of the water, glimmering,

 

Where mystical geese sail

 

Along the snow-enchanted trail

 

Back to the beginning,

 

To before the great scattering —

 

Fragmented, broken,

 

Back to where only the silver song of the loon,

 

Clear in the white night,

 

Sings to the peace beyond the realms of being.

 

 

© 2015, Sharon St Joan, photo and poem