Owl

Perched upon the

Pinnacle

Of the tree,

Silhouetted

Against the

Dark

Black

Sky,

Gazing

Through the night

With eyes

That never turn.

Swiveling

Its head

Round

And

Round.

It has an

Air

About it,

One of

Wisdom

And knowledge.

It regards

Those about it with a

Authority,

Knowing

That it is

Surely

The king of the night.

Then, unfurling

Its great,

Magnificent

Wings,

It fills them with air,

And glides

Effortlessly

Into the darkness.

Written by Megan

Night

Night is when

The wind

Dances.

Owls unfurl

Their great

Wings

And take flight.

The coyotes

Sing

In perfect harmony.

The sky

Is alive

With stars,

Winking

At the earth.

The grass

Accepts

Dewdrops

To rest upon

Their blades,

And the flowers

Shine with

Radiance,

As if their

Petals are intricate

Ball gowns.

Then,

Just as the

Night

Is reaching its glory,

The sun

Wisps

It all away.

Written by Megan

Trust is a Baby Bird

Trust is a baby bird huddled in its nest made of twigs, depending on its mother to feed it and warm it with her downy feathers.

Trust is a baby alligator depending on its mother to guard it as an egg, its only shelter its mother’s jaws.

Trust is a baby kangaroo snuggled inside its mother’s pouch depending on her to carry it to where it needs to go.

Trust is a kitten snuggling in its mother’s warm, thick fur, depending on the milk that it needs to survive.

Trust is a lion cub swatting playfully at its mother depending on her protection from harmful predators.

Trust is a newborn baby gurgling in Mother Mary’s kind arms depending on her to keep him safe until he is ready to save the world.

Written by Megan

Calm is a Rainstorm

Calm is the pitter-pattering drops of rain that splash onto your feet and outspread hands.

It smells like the pure, damp air from under an umbrella.

It tastes like the fresh earth after its shower of dew each morning.

It sounds like a child’s breathing as she steps barefoot through the moist grass.

If feels like the cool water that falls from the heavens to satisfy the thirsting terrain.

It looks like a baby bird snuggled under its mother’s protective feathers waiting out the thunder.

Calm is a rainstorm.

Written by Megan

Moon

A sliver of light

Peers cautiously through the clouds,

Quivering as if

Terrified

That she won’t complete her purpose.

 

Once she is full,

She knows that she will

Shine

With radiance,

Revealing the dark world

Almost

As well as her brother, the sun.

But not quite.

 

But she is not bitter.

She casts a silver blanket over the

Dark, dark night

As to not

Frighten

The morning frost away.

 

When she is full,

She will have the confidence to

Face the world,

All of the evils and good

Put to bed for the night.

 

To the moon,

The night isn’t forbidding.

It doesn’t frighten her with the

Owl calls and the whispering wind.

No, the night is welcoming.

But that is its own sort of terror.

The night welcomes the moon,

And she doesn’t want to

Let the night down,

Shatter its hopes, its dreams.

 

But when she is full,

When she forms a perfect circle,

She will still be her timid self,

But in a completely new way.

For when you are brave,

Timid turns to humble

And humility is

Pride disguised in moonlight.

 

Yes, when this sliver of light

Hovering so nervously in the air

Eventually turns with time

Full,

She will be brave.

But without facing the fears of appearing small

In those nights following the new moon,

She would never grow full,

For she would stay “new” forever.

 

Even the moon faces doubts of her own,

Every night as she comes out to shine.

Not many observe her, however.

Not many appreciate her courage.

But the owl watches as she rises.

The wolf howls as she’s at her peak.

The dew falls as she sets.

And that is enough.

 

Written by Megan

 

A Dream and a Truce

I dream I am a carpenter,

Carving words from simple ideas.

I dream I am an artist,

Molding stories from questions.

I dream I am a writer.

 

Words soon discovered my dream

And swept me off my feet, unprepared.

They whispered softly in my ear,

Laughing, giggling all the while,

Whisking me away with promises.

 

They told me of lands far, far away,

Beginning with “Once upon a time,”

Then snatched the tales away from me,

Laughing as I stumbled blindly.

Words are cruel if given too much strength.

 

I used to dream to control words,

Thoughtlessly caging them in stories.

Now I dream of an alliance.

We share the goal of touching lives, but

We need the other to begin.

The Song

A child

Dances

Forth

From the depths of

God’s imagination.

Her hair blows

About her face,

Her toes

Unclenched

In the lush, green grass

Of summer.

She is calm,

Her face—

Untouched

By lines of worry—

Is turned to meet

The sunrise.

The wind

Whispers

In her ear,

Singing songs of ancient lands.

The trees

Beg

Her to allow them to

Lift their roots

Out of the soft earth that has

Bound them

For so long.

The robins ask her

In never-ending birdsong

To fly

Among the budding leaves

With them.

The bees buzz in

Astonishment

At God’s new creation,

Their gossip forgotten.

Earth itself seems to

Pause,

Waiting to see what will

Happen next.

The girl smiles,

Respecting every aspect of nature

As it had

Never

Been respected before.

The sun shines

Brighter;

The animals stride with

Their heads held high;

The breezes

Swirl

With new purpose.

Thus, the golden age of the earth.

And the child aged,

Never losing her footing on

The mossy rocks

Of the ever-flowing rivers.

When she died,

The earth

Grieved

For a hundred years,

Wishing

That the girl would be

Eternal

As the swirling wind.

Mother Earth

Was soon elected Spokeswoman

Of all the creatures.

She begged God for

One more

Of the animals such as the

Child.

So, God created Adam.

All of nature was overjoyed,

But after

Whispering

Into his ear and

Running about his feet,

Their sorrow returned,

Nipping at them,

Smirking in their faces,

For this man

Overlooked

All that was around him,

Only seeing the

“Useful”.

Nature was

Devastated.

“Don’t you

Understand,”

The wind whispered

Uselessly

Into his ear,

“We would give you

Everything

That you need, and

More,

If only you would

Let us?”

But he was

Deaf

To the voices of the wind.

Today,

The beauty of the earth has

Forgotten its

Voice.

The birds only chirp,

Their long, lovely voices

Quenched out by

Sorrow.

The rushing river only

Splashes and slurps,

But doesn’t quite remember

Its old, divine voice.

The trees stand still,

Hating their destined fate,

But accepting

The humans that come and

Chop

Them

Down,

Not knowing how to

Pull their roots

Free of the

Hard, hard earth.

Only the wind

Remembers the tune

Of that

Small,

Beautiful song

That the child used to whisper

Into the very being of creation.

It remembers the melody,

But not the words.

So it searches

Every human,

Whispering into their ears,

Begging them

For the lyrics,

But it is batted away.

Perhaps the human race has

Separated

Nature from itself.

So it waits for just

One

To see the truth

And hear the

Wind’s

Message,

For even Mother Earth,

The elected spokeswoman

Has lost her voice.

However,

Just as the

Mist

That hovers

Directly over the ground

Will one day

Rise

And change form into

Rain,

Nature knows that the

Child

May still be

Alive,

Just changed in appearance.

This, and the

Constant,

Quiet singing of the wind

Is the

Hope

To which the

Earth

Clings.

Hear the wind.

We all know the words to the

Child’s song.

Find them.

Whisper them.

Sing them.

Know them.

Written by Megan

May 23, 2012