If The Soul Feels Unwell

Hello again, dear readers.  This may be part of my blog "spitting and gurgling awkwardly, before flowing again," per my last blog posting.

I might try poetry for awhile here.  Or or maybe I'm taking all the news headlines and processing them. And our collective reactions. 

For whatever reason I give you this poem:

IF THE SOUL FEELS UNWELL

Yellow birds high in berried dogwood,

sing contentment.

Higher still, hawks and buzzards soar -

an odd group murmuring top power and

bottom scavenging.

Buoyed by the same updraft, the

dark shapes show community. Despite differences.

Down by the creek, a thin willow sapling leans heavily

into the wind, gesturing resilience,

also communing. With orange  poppy and hyssop, 

pink phlox, dusty greens in catnip and mint;

wild asters waving violet.

Heavy dew rests on broad petals of primrose

quieting the meadow. Droplets sparkle. 

Everywhere – and carelessly!

Withered brown stalks of thistle hold drip lines of light,

like glitter grout cast cheerfully between dark tiles.

Small cedars dot the landscape, a mosaic

of happy little trees

in coves of rotting logs and diseased sycamores,

hope hiding in far corners and dark crevices.

In rotten circumstances, desperate souls. Mighty oaks

fall, earth quakes, foxes scream. Wolves howl sharing love

or despair or both.

Dear one, all is not lost if the soul feels unwell. And, don't 

we all dance between courage and stark fear, 

faith and hopelessness? 

Strength is beautiful. Humble vulnerability precious.

The deepest Reality is upside down. Humanity 

is every color, voice, feeling, experience. 

Spirituality embraces humanity.

All is well with my soul. 

Of course.
Of course not!

Yes to both. In self-awareness, in Divine embrace.

The hawks and vultures intuitively know every season belongs.