Stone has a tone that echos in the bone.
Wood has a grain that tells in cells and smells.
Water has a feel that can refresh and heal.
Fire burns, time touches, tears teach,
And the one thing remains present in everything.
The Banks of the Wye.
Long armed oaks, leaning, reaching
for something, beyond grasping.
The wind moves free on the river,
yet pauses at the bank, as if caught,
in some thought, and whispering why.
The Osprey glides above , then dives,
splashing down, grasping for something,
The sun climbs the far bank,
covers me in gold, and I swim
in the water and the fire of beauty.
There is no holding or grasping,
just breathing in and out,
Like the tide.