Walking in the Wood
Walking in the wood this morning
as the sun painted the sky,
I looked, listened to
Life being reborn.
Buds were bursting and clapping hands,
little timpani filling the air.
The reeds around the pond would not be outdone,
they rustled delighted
Brushes on drums.
Birds, I love them, took centre stage
with a full choir singing praise;
to life, to heavens, to all.
I saw ants building nests,
very busy they were.
Even wasps droned drunkenly around
finding a flower or two.
I sat down on a stone and dare swear,
the air did also sing
as it gently nourished my skin.
© miriam ivarson
Mr Owl above, wisely tells me that we teach best what we need to learn.
An old adage I tell him but admit I don’t always listen. Hmm …
The first and most spontaneous gift at birth is the breath.
Yet, we often manage to mess even this up. Makes me both laugh and cry,
are we both too clever and too ignorant?
Either way, this little poem presented itself and perhaps I am not the only one
to recognise this phenomenon of breathing.
to the rhythm of the waves,
To the sounds of strong winds
through the forests and glades;
The sighing of reeds by the lake.
Letting breath flow deeply and easily
in harmony with them,
Replenishing body and mind.
Our lives begin on Earth with the first breath,
it ends with the last;
Thus follows that we should nourish and fill
this precious vessel, this gift,
With oxygen freely supplied from each tree,
from all living nature.
So walk straight, fill the lungs
make every cell sing,
with the fervour of a little bird;
At night let easy cadency sustain.
Our heartbeats will slow, to the pulse
of a two stroke diesel;
As it propels the skiff at sea.
All it takes is to be,
in tune with the Whole.
c/ miriam ivarson