A stream

I breathe in the mossy smell of trees and cut grass,

Warm earth,

All around me

And beneath me where i sit

Listening to the hum of bees

And language of jays.

The branches of small trees create an oasis

As I lay

On a blanket of grass

And catch glimpses of deep blue

Above me.

My palms open,

Arms outstretched as a Caterpillar

Crawls along the pale part of my arm that the sun hasn’t seen.

I feel

So alive in moments like these,

Listening to the quiet beating of my pulse under my skin

As a stream gurgles near by

And i am me

In this sheltered place

And this place becomes me.

By J. Hamilton

Untamed wilderness

Many summers ago,

Before the locust tree

And maple trees grew tall

And their branches cast

Leafy shadows

Beneath their shade,

You grabbed my hand in our sunny garden

And pretended that you were the adult

And

I the child,

And our garden was a forest that you were guiding me through.

Its paths were only known to you

As we walked through them together.

I was part of your journey

In this well mapped

Enchanted place

That you would one day outgrow.

One day you would prepare

To leave

For an untamed wilderness.

A journey that you would

Walk alone.

I can still feel your small fingers

Wrapped in mine.

Though my hands are empty

As you carve new paths

In an unknown terrian.

By J. Hamilton

There was a bird

There was a bird

perched along the bough

Of an elder tree

And he sang and sang.

He watched me carefully

As i moved closer to take a look.

The small, glassy beads of his eyes looking back.

He was hesitant at first

But then he lost his fear to his curiousity

And drew himself closer

To my world.

I always knew he was there

Where the branch dangled slightly where he was.

Or when his song pierced the air.

I waited for him when the silence of his absence

Hung in the air.

I told myself he did not belong to my world.

When he visited after a time

My heart told him he did not belong here.

He was not a prisoner

And i couldn’t contain him in a gilded cage

Because he would no longer sing.

He continued to sing,

On the thin arm of a red maple.

His notes breaking the silence with his music.

I knew the day would come

When my visitor’s song will have ceased. When i would come upon his black feathers

On a wandering path.

I would put his handsome feathers inside the pages of a book.

And remember his repeated calls

In the early hours of the morning.

Calling out into silence.

Waiting for his call to be answered

But met without music.

By J. Hamilton

Again

The beaded necklace

Separated by the droplets of deep coral

Held by a string

Until it fell apart

And i hung up on a branch

Broken

Is how that place inside me feels.

Raw,

Damaged.

Waiting to be put back together.

Where is that healing place?

Somehow the thread that held that fine balance together

Came undone.

And i have been searching

For all of that is broken

To become whole again

By J.Hamilton

To

Sacred

I found a large maple tree

To seek refuge under

From the stifling heat.

I have always loved trees,

A place to rest my back on,

Shield my eyes from the scorching sun.

The branches stretch out all around me

adorned by the weightlessness

Of emerald leaves.

This is a safe place.

Cradled by shadow and solitude.

Beneath me lays

The groove of roots,

Patches of grass

And earth.

I want to stay here for a while

In its sacred silence.

By J.Hamilton

Gathering light

So many times

Have i been among the shadows

And the golden ribbons of light

In dreams.

I have seen the endless landscape

Of blowing grass

And rows of towering trees on both sides.

I wander among the ample cluster of trees

Swollen with life.

their leaves

Like hands

Reaching out to catch the light.

These summer spaces

Stretch out for miles.

Somewhere under their leafed canopy

You lay down on a blanket of soft, warm

uneven grass.

Your head resting

on a folded arm.

Somehow even in the shade

The sun has managed to slip through the weathered arms of an old tree

And it gathers light

In your eyes.

By J. HAMILTON

The journey

How brief a time

It is that we fly.

We wait our entire lives

For this new freedom,

Where we can hover above the water,

Our reflection dancing in its waves.

Our moments

Spanning from drift to drift,

A brief, beautiful magic.

Our time to fly,

Fleeting.

J. Hamilton

Weave

I leaned into the straight back of my summer chair,

I caught a glimpse of the silky fibres of a web

Hanging off the aged stone petals of a bird bath.

The strands of the carefully constructed spider web

Gleamed

Like the shimmer off a lake.

Then somehow

You walked through it

And the lace that took a lifetime to weave

Stretched around you as if to hold you in its balance.

But you unknowingly moved through it

And somehow

It remained

Unbroken

By J. Hamilton

Hollow

An inescapable hollow

Lives here

Since the day you left.

It is true that the permanence of absence

Changes oneself.

I have never been the same

Without you in it.

I am missing that part of me that was you.

Tonight I will hear that familiat song of

A bird,

Its tune falling into the solitary notes

Of longing.

There will be an infinite pause

and its silience will live here

In me.

J. Hamilton

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com