Posted: May 24th, 2007 at 1:45am By: Anne E. Ulvestad
I go to the pond

The one that reflects the blue sky

and the dark rain clouds alike

The one that lifts and buoys up

the goose as well as the gander.

The one on whose surface ripples the greens

and reds of trees lining her border

And also distorts the browns and grays,

silvers and blacks of the pebbles on her bottom.

I sit by the pond

Who doesn't distinguish between me

or the honey bee who won't sit still

but jumps from flower to flower

Who gurgles and laps over stone and shore,

toes and trash.

Sometimes my heart hurts for the openness

Is it the empty of eternity

or the stab of a knife wound

(or perhaps a word)?

Shall I distinguish between the

new growth on my rose bush

Or the growth of the mound of

manure in my back yard?

Both result in the bud, in the blossoming,

in the bliss.

I pour out my heart

To the water who accepts it as

it accepts all streams

As another stream

(of consciousness?)

Raising the level of ...

gratitude

hope

forgiveness

and promise.

— — —

Anne E. Ulvestad is a free-lance writer residing in Maryland. She has her master's in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations and rituals on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2007 by Anne E. Ulvestad

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