RainA misty day lingers outside my window.More Like This
The default response echoes in
What I think I’m supposed to feel;
Sadness. Rain. What a shame.
Unless you’re a farmer, there’s no room for rain in our play.
But, I am not a farmer.
The greyness of the sky draws me out,
The wetness of the mists entice my skin,
The softness of these natural caresses
Causes my soul to sing to bring my chemical ecstasy.
Some bemoan a rainy day.
Others curl inside the windows with hot drink and pages.
I would dance and sing in the softly falling sky
And drink deep the draught of sense usually kept within.
Oh, for a love that would embrace the sky,
Tap deep into the earth,
As my soul does fly,
Grounding to birth.
Oh the mists of this lingering high
Carried on wings of crows calling nigh.
The Sleeping Black TreeThe Sleeping Black Tree, a parable by Gregga J. JohnnMore Like This
Once upon a time in a forest clear and far away, there was a tree. If you had been walking through this forest you would know which tree I mean for he was not like the other trees of the forest. The other trees were all awake in the sunshine, with full heads of abundant leaves, lush fruits, and stunning flowers.
The tree of which I speak, however, did not like to waken in the daylight. The other trees pitied him for he did not have leaves and his branches were barren of fruit. His bark was smooth and glossy black. He was nothing like the other trees that surrounded him. The sleeping black tree stood in a small glade set apart from the others. He was tall. He was strong. He was quietly, alone.
Many travelers came to this forest for the beauty of the place and it was often said that this forest is how a forest should be. But, the glade in which our sleeping black tree stood was considered frightfully somber by most travelers. S