In my dreams, the women are drumming,
their waters are rising, silver and wild.
Making prayers of their bodies,
they dance as if swimming
under the Moon Mother spell.
© Angela Bigler 2016
Her songs are earth deep mantras calling names of constellations into being.
Her light soaked in, released the magic pine and herbs.
All those folded flowers lifted up their sacred prayers – water, light, dirt, love.
Her gifts – who could forget them?
Did you see her gentle curves?
The way her spine supports her children?
It’s impossible to live without her heaven/earth transcendence.
Aren’t we all turning, turning with the planet that she raised?
I rattled all the chains
in the old kingdom.
Thinking I was wind
or dirt, or rain.
the miles thick earth.
A whisper stoked
or armored friends.
The bark fed climb
and I’ll be rising.
Find me calling
© Angela Bigler 2013
Had I been adequately prepared for your visit,
I would have…
Plucked the weeds from my garden
And replaced them with budding beauties,
Invited you to sit on a soft carpet of moss,
Shaded by growing greenery,
Planned a picnic of your favorite delicacies from distant lands.
I could not arrange an appropriate setting,
Yet you made yourself at home among weeds and unpainted boards.
You refused refreshment and placed my needs ahead of your own.
Like our Lord, you came to serve.
Long after sunglow, I’ll savor your sensitivity.
~Nancy J. Ressler
The sun is the great luminary of all life - Frank Lloyd Wright
Carving out space for creativity - one day at a time.
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