Hidden Until Now
Beauty Revealed
Th earth was once a garden with thousand-year-old trees everywhere we looked. The waters were clear, dancing and freely flowing. The earth lived with natural rhythms and balance among all the creatures, long before the humans appeared.
We must have looked very odd to the trees, the creatures, the waters.
Those humans who listened, learned, and lived the ancient natural rhythm of the earth, taking just enough, and giving back to the earth their gratitude and kindness, those humans are now the rare ones, who are invisible and different, just as the remnants of the garden, the ancient trees, and dancing waters continue to flourish, often hidden and unseen, along paths made by deer and moose.
I live a wandering life, waking before the Sun appears, sauntering the paths of deer, the forgotten roads that have no name and do not appear on any map.
In these places I am stopped in my tracks by a glimpse of that garden, a stand of ancient trees, dancing streams, and flora as tiny as the little fingers not yet unfolded on the new fern of spring. seen in the soft light of dawn when dew and mist touch the sacred.
John Holliger ©2019
Beauty Revealed
Th earth was once a garden with thousand-year-old trees everywhere we looked. The waters were clear, dancing and freely flowing. The earth lived with natural rhythms and balance among all the creatures, long before the humans appeared.
We must have looked very odd to the trees, the creatures, the waters.
Those humans who listened, learned, and lived the ancient natural rhythm of the earth, taking just enough, and giving back to the earth their gratitude and kindness, those humans are now the rare ones, who are invisible and different, just as the remnants of the garden, the ancient trees, and dancing waters continue to flourish, often hidden and unseen, along paths made by deer and moose.
I live a wandering life, waking before the Sun appears, sauntering the paths of deer, the forgotten roads that have no name and do not appear on any map.
In these places I am stopped in my tracks by a glimpse of that garden, a stand of ancient trees, dancing streams, and flora as tiny as the little fingers not yet unfolded on the new fern of spring. seen in the soft light of dawn when dew and mist touch the sacred.
John Holliger ©2019
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