Posted in Nature Photography, Nature Poetry

Guided by Beauty

There are moments when reclining by a field of flowers,
Or sitting by a babbling brook,
And soaking up the early summer mist,
That the mind wanders floating with the clouds.

It travels through existence,
Searching for purpose and meaning,
Floating over time,
Viewing strife and pain,
Joy and happiness,
Looking for a reason when the next sunrise comes,
To rise out of bed and, like the sun, become born anew.

As the mind wanders, floating gently with the clouds,
It returns after a while and lingers with the flowers and brook,
Their beauty speaks as they shimmer in the late afternoon sun,
Completely enveloped in the golden hour rays,
That descends like angles from the heavens.

Then the mind transfixed on their beauty begins to understand,
Perhaps the reason to live is guided by beauties hand,
And as the sun creeps further down the horizon, there is a peace that sweeps over the land.

Posted in Nature Photography, Nature Poetry

The Grand Choir

Breaking through the dark silence,
A round of Robins sing in the new day,
In unison, their gentle calls are a sweet harmony,
Chirping and dashing about in the cool morning air,
Nature’s grand choir,
Lifting their voices in a song as old as the mountains,
Singing with all their might,
As if willing the vernal sun over the horizon.

Posted in Nature Photography, Nature Poetry

Whispers of the Wind

Purple and amber bursts through the fleeing clouds,
A cooling breeze cuts through the humid air,
The trees shake, and flowers bow.

As the clouds blew on,
And the sun began to recede down the horizon,
The displays of color would fill the greatest painters with envy.

Lavender, orange, yellow, and pink,
A show of divine proportion,
Perhaps a revelation,
For those who listen to the whispers of the wind,
And look for the shades of wisdom in the sky.

Posted in Nature Poetry, Wildlife Photography

What Must Birds Think of Us?

What must birds think of us?
Rushing from one place to the next,
Always in a hurry,
Never once basking in the sun.

What must birds think of us?
So careless,
Yet so precise,
Hardly considered what other creatures need.

What must birds think of us?
Some feeding them,
Some loving them,
But all never genuinely understanding them.

What must birds think of us?
When we destroy their forest homes,
Only to build houses,
And plant new trees.

What must birds think of us?
How wonderful,
How dangerous,
How odd must we seem?