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cedars

I sit
beneath the cedars,
in solemn serenity.
Face red
with asking questions,
seeking answers
to the ways
of life and death —
molecules and atoms —
and how we’re all
connected.

My fingers
stiff, from cold —
a child’s stubby crayons —
make difficult the task
of turning pages,
jotting notes
about impermanence,
attachment
and letting go.

I’m surrounded
by spirits of seasons past.
I fear not —
they mean no harm.
Their faces radiate,
coming from the light.
In their eyes
I see peace and love —
they are free
of mortal suffering
they endured
in life.

They comfort me.
“Grieve not,” they say,
“soon enough, you will join us.
You will experience the universe
and all it has to offer.
You still have much to learn.
When you are ready,
we’ll be waiting.”

I feel the joy of life —
(maples sailing leaves
of red and yellow)
moments, lifetimes pass…
then they’re gone,
as they should be.

I lived a dream,
everything was possible,
a spirit, a whisper
of love.

Beneath the cedars,
in their realm of wisdom,
reverently
I sit.
 
 

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