Mother’s Breath

Mother’s Breath
Photo by Tim Graves. Creative Commons License BY-NC-ND 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/
Photo by Tim Graves. Creative Commons License BY-NC-ND 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/

Beneath the merciless orb,
between the anemically verdant sage,
beside the diminishing river of summer,
tears and sweat mingle.

In this, Ezekiel’s scorched land,
dusty apparitions emerge
with each footfall.

What might have been,
what could have been,
arid visions come & go with the footdust.

With glistening skin of sweat,
the wanderer searches and scans,
praying for a breezy arbor.

And the breath of God,
ripples across the waters,
provoking river grasses to pirouette in joy.

Breathing across parched lands,
the holy, wafting spirit inhales
the sage, earth wisdom of the fields.

Enfolding the dispirited traveler,
the sacred breath spirals,
answering prayer with affirmation.

Damp skin suckles at Mother’s breath,
as the scent of earth wisdom upon heaven’s breath,
brings contentment, peace, and hope to the weary one.

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In the Midst of Dry Bones

In the midst of the dry bones,

   under the hot sun,

      where the vultures circle,

         and where water once ran…

Look closely for,

   subtle beauty,

      for Divine majesties,

         for wisps of pink and lavender,

             a blush of gold,

                and for bursts of golden yellow…

On the mounds of dry bones,

   look closely because,

     life abounds,

         under the unrepenting glare,

             where ingenuity finds all that it needs to continue…

In the valley of dry bones…

   do not rush by,

      instead linger,

         listen for the doe in the bushes,

            contemplate the scrub oak reproducing,

                  and marvel at the one bright red berry,

                     that prophesies in the midst of dry bones.

All photos by Tim Graves.