Cycles

There among the woods,
The color's brilliance glows;
And hang on for their lives
until the cold wind blows.

When grips are torn from limb,
The colors paint the sky.
And earthward bound they spin,
En masse they all must die.

But when the winter's over,
And blankets of snows are o'er ;
Beneath the brown, shattered cover,
New birth, new life is born.

This cycle goes on unending,
As we cling to where we're fed.
But "to everything a season,"
Then to promised rest we'll bed.

It's while in rest we wonder,
What difference did we make?
Look underneath our past,
What life did we create.

by Peg 10/2001
 

Solstice

as the old year ends

and the cold begins

around the hearth we gather

we have our stories and our friends

to warm this winters weather

 

apples have been gathered in

with nuts and summers giving

roots are layered down below

full is our harvest cellar

 

the sun is low in winter's sky

wood is stacked wide and high

we ready now against the cold

as winter winds begin to sigh

a time to rest, young and old

 

the hearth fire is set for all

Autumn garlands grace the hall

now our harvest toil does cease

as winter's snowflakes start to fall

we gather here , our hearts at peace

 

P

 

 

     Bird Song

time to move on she said

and rose to look around

the sky was growing distant

frost was on the ground

 

shaking off her slumber,

dark eyes raised to the sky

a cold winter's coming

this bird had better fly

this bird had better fly

 

a hard winter's coming

she heard the others cry

I've stayed here too long

this bird had better fly

 

I must obey my blood

and it calls me to take wing

I must be going

or suffer winters sting

 

the journey will be hard

and the skies will be cold

snow will soon be blowing

and I am growing old

and I am growing old

 

a hard winter's coming

she stared up at the sky

the nights are growing long

this bird has to fly

 

she thinks about the bitter land

she's leaving behind

and hopes that where she's flying

it's warmth she will find

warmth she must find

 

a hard winter's coming

she looked back with a sigh

I've stayed here too long

this bird is going to fly

 

Mylar faces
brushed with rainbows
gilded lettering
tell their story.