It seems like water at times

leaves rustling above our dry wash

sounds of nature some ear might know

but to me, it is just leaves that sound like water

at night I might go out to see if it really is raining


Sometimes water does flow underneath their sun-ward climb

right now cicadas are sounding long distance calls

filling the air with the sound of maraca’s in unison

now there are again leaves shuffling while cicada’s quite


If leaves, legs or wings are striking the air between one another

I do not know

we often do not know consciously

there are familiar yet secret things

ignored truths in the background

we do not question their existence

but we may not know what they are

or if an ear more informed is listening

an eye waiting to see a right sign

we can be alone in waiting

why this waiting

this remembering to seek

an answer we are suspecting

yet seemingly lacking in evidence?


We may not know where to look

how to look and even why

between what common things

can be hidden infinite majesties

just what do I miss

the nose on my own face

the air carrying sound

also carrying itself


The wind

seeking of balance

its mandate of harmony

imparts its journey to these leaves

leaves are sending me primal spiritual notes

how all is connected in ever-seeking balance

each thing relates to one another in this quest

how different are these cicada’s needs

or mine for mistaking rain

in dry rustling cottonwoods?


There is this matter of perspective

if I lead with expectation

what I am looking for specifically

or if there is an immersive place

a place where I receive it all

not dissecting any of it

there is ability to receive

not just what I need

but what is as is full

to be with it unbiased

to let it inside


When a certain dam washes away

we sit and receive the song of harmony

comprehend that beyond dissection

we can see invisible union

by becoming that air that is

not seen yet completely able

to receive and transmit

the movements of Life

of resounding Love


No matter how poor I am

how inflicted and destitute

by ideas made of humankind

that disregard balance and harmony

and call the air just a pointless commodity to be used

abused and thrown away

I still have that clear place inside

to see beyond man-made distortions

see past the proofs of callus disregard

and alienation’s call of revenge

and accumulation


I still

in that still place

touch Divine presence

open eyes into the Source

that exist beyond judging

as invisible as the wind

latent in all directions

until I recognize what is

a message being sent

though now quiet and still

through cottonwoods

a simple breeze