A Poem by Diane Webster
Three antelope lie on the sunny hillside
on Christmas eve day.
Brown fur blends into December weeds
while white fur imitates patches of snow.
The antelope with eyes closed bask
on the southern slope and dream…
dream of heatwaves rising
across the high desert trails
where lake mirages shimmer
a distance away…
dream of green grasses still fresh
in spring while each blade, each clump
sways in wind, waves to be eaten.
A Poem by Diane Webster
After the rainstorm
gravity collects
puddles in the parking lot.
A sparrow lands on the edge…
cocks its head left,
cocks its head right.
Wades ankle deep,
splashes its body
with wing vibrations,
shattering reflection.
| “We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart.Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that.The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen:room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.”— Pema Chödrön, When Things Fall Apart |
“If the ocean can calm itself, so can you. We are both salt water mixed with air.”
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