Jakua

Cuckoo,

let's go - how bright

the western skies!

from Japanese Death Poem,  

May 5, 1801

The setting October Super Moon - Harvest moon

 

Opinions are sometimes wrong,

but what kind of opinion is this

that's blind to the right road?

O eye, you cry for others:

sit down awhile and weep for yourself!

The bough is made green and fresh 

by the weeping cloud for the same reason

that the candle is made brighter 

by its weeping.

Rumi

Walking into pastels..

                                            
 

Before the shrine the

mandarin tree its fruit 

wet in the autumn rain

Santoka Taneda

New Mexico red delicious apples

 

Everything that is made beautiful and fair and lovely

is made for the eye of one who sees.

Rumi

Gibbous moon and the rainbow bridge

 

 

Wide awake

and  feeling the moon right above.

Santoka Taneda 

September's full 'Corn' Moon setting

 A fine delight is needed for devotions to bear fruit:

a kernel is required for a berry to produce a tree.

Rumi

from - Rumi Daylight, A Daybook of Spiritual Guidance

My delicious garden...

 

Poem to a Plant Goddess

Her name is Datura.

Delicate fluted deep-throated trumpets open to

humming honey bees and summer rains.

She communicates through scent.

 In the fall I collect her sharp-needled pods.

They rattle like dry bones.

I chill them.

In the spring I coax seeds to sprout

wrapping each in papery white cloth,

sing love songs  –  siren calls

to rouse each root from winter’s sleep.

I am patient…

 a woman in waiting for the heat of the sun

to unfurl the mystery of becoming

 that is re-acted in spring.

Only seeds know when to swell and burst.

 Wooly hairs branch out from a single root.

Curling themselves into screw like shapes,

They leave it to me to untangle head from foot!

 I hear the Old Ones call her Sacred

West wind whips red sand into my face,

 as I place each sprout in well dampened soil.

Within a week green wings unfold

– twin leafed plantlets

lean into the fierce light of a golden eye.

 Each seedling seeks its own form.

 DNA meets the pattern of becoming

held by cosmic forces in a spiral round.

 

I imagine a bush of sensuous pearl white trumpets – lacey lavender tipped edges unfurling at dusk.

Datura communes with the Hawk moth under a blossoming moon.

-Sarah Wright