Consider the giant oaks holding up their arms to the owls and crows, to the woolly bears and the tiny titmouse— and take comfort in their reach. Think of the sugared maples, changing their leaves to gold, their shadows to shade. See the towering pine, dusting the globe of the moon—and be assured. Trees—when studied— … More Requesting your presence
Breathe in. Slowly. Trace it to the core of my spirit. So tired. Shadows aren’t meant to be sharp. Why did I stop gathering life’s simple flowers, closing my eyes to their beauty, letting them slip through my hands to the ground? Flowers need sun to shine. What happened to their joyful faces? Something … More Open My Eyes – A Meditation
In the beginning—time still untarnished by tongues of friends telling tales of unrequited passion and by knowledge yet to be understood—pockets and purses held the roots of recollection: tickets torn to their stubs, clovers plucked for their leaves of luck, valentines pasted with tinseled love, prized dance cards, dutifully, if not lovingly, signed by Curt, by Joe and … More Bones of Memory
It was a day when the sea lay still, merging its salty wetness with the waiting edge of the sky and the clouds were filled with fish, so thick that I saw them— in full color, I might note— darting and turning through bursts of beta waves before losing their way in the deep. There were … More Catnap
Sometimes this feeling sets in— as if that whole field of flowers is gold and wine and perfect. Some feel that way when spring unfolds its leaves and petals and sunshine flows and we listen to the cadence of downy reds, drumming their way ’round an old tree trunk. Others think—as the peepers gather and … More The Nature of Peace
Always, even before the mountains were born, it was the sea that folded its dark soul around algae bloom and plankton and embryonic fishes, around ashen rain and shattered prisms of light, and offered up its titanic floor as the resting place of life. Consider that broken shell just washed ashore, its barnacle covered walls … More Requiem
Overnight, they fell, floating and curling their way through darkness, while I slept and spirits dozed, naked trees bent to the ground, the face of the earth covered its eyes, and the crickets came inside. * * * “Rusty Leaves,” from Dreams of a Wingless Child, by Mary O’Connor, Wheatmark Press, © 2007 Photo, Mary … More Rusty Leaves
He was named for rulers and kings, and drank the sweet nectar of the rose, but it was the way he floated and soared on those magnificent Renaissance wings— frescoes of orange and black—that never failed to give rise to the dreams of a wingless child. ******* “Flight of the Monarch” by Mary O’Connor from … More Flight of the Monarch
I came upon this ray of sunshine, skipping from sunrise to sunrise, refusing to set, to leave me alone. — from Dreams of a Wingless Child by Mary O’Connor © 2007. ********** Photo © 2013, Mary O’Connor
Of all the gifts you might desire, I offer one—a wish that speaks of wonder, bids you rest by the side of the wandering river, watch it idle through meadows and fields, be soothed by the opus of crickets and frogs, caressed with the velvet dust of flight song, and feel earth’s soul. Together, may you … More The Wedding Gift
Life Is Full of Sweet Spots 