The Freeing Wind

Trapped inside by this humid haze

My thoughts, a foggy slug

Dullness is the drink of the day,

—I can barely breathe!

—I can barely move!

and I don’t care if I do either…

But, then a cool breeze starts to play

among the leaves in my backyard,

and dappled sunlight does a dance

on the surface of the deck and table

igniting just a little spark of life in me.

Suddenly the trees begin to sway

they clap their hands as Wind blows

all the humidity away!

I turn the roaring air conditioner off!

Flinging windows wide,

I let the Wind inside!

Now the sounds of Nature fill my ears

My thoughts, my mind becoming clear,

I just need to go outside it seems,

And awaken from these lethargic dreams!

~Kathie Adams Brown (September 9, 2015)

Regrets

Santa Rita Mountains in Arizona 8-7-2010

I guess it’s too late to be a ballerina, lithe, graceful and pretty.

I guess it’s too late to own my own horse and ride wildly over the fields.

I guess it’s too late to build a log cabin, all from scratch with my own trees and on my own land.

I guess it’s too late to live in the mountains, far away from anyone or anything.

I guess it’s too late to live in Idaho, a place more wild and beautiful than I could have imagined.

I guess it’s too late to be an Indian princess and live in a teepee and wear a buckskin dress and moccasins.

I guess it’s too late to become a doctor and practice in some faraway place where I am most needed.

I know it’s too late to save my poor dog, the beautiful Irish Setter—poetry in motion. I let him down. He was my friend. He was my heart.

But it is never too late to sing my own song, or write my own story.

It is never too late to love, or forgive,

or to dream.

~ Kathie Adams Brown (4-1-15)

A Winter's Dream

Swiftly on this winter's night
Orion takes his stealthy flight
across the dark and spangled sky
as the cold night slowly passes by,
and we mere mortals stop and stare
into the dome quite unaware
of heavenly battles being fought;
of dreams released and being caught
in sleepy heads on pillows laid--
it's in the stars that dreams are made!

~kathie adams brown (January 6, 2014)

Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

The Mists of Yellowstone

Morning light diffuses in the mists of Yellowstone.

Blackbirds gather to feed on the insects attracted to the warmth of hot springs,

A few of them perch in silhouette against the pale blue sky,

Like the shadows of elusive thoughts.

The mists envelope me and cloud my mind.

I wonder if this is real, if I am awake, if sun will ever shine again.

I wander down the misty trail, eyes trying to pierce the fog, to see,

The bare bones, the tree spines, the souls of the forest revealed.

I am walking on hallowed ground,

The earth is renewed in this steaming water,

From the bowels of the earth the birth heat is released,

And then I find the life born in this place,

Evidence of generations of its kind nibbling on grasses, seeds, berries,

Parallel lines of black and white streak down its back

And end in a furry tail.

I smile at the chipmunk, my furry friend amidst all this steam and stone.

I know there is a plan, an architecture to it all—

Here in the mists, there is structure and order, and LIFE!

~kathie adams brown (October 17, 2013)

adapted from a post I wrote for Kathie's Birds called: 

Morning Mist in Yellowstone National Park

August Wind

August wind blows dry

Dark clouds gather in heaps over the mountains

Restlessness is in this unsettled air

I stir from my summer stupor

I wonder

What will tomorrow bring?

But for tonight

As trees toss limbs around me

Waving leaves like black lace handkerchiefs against the smoky sky

I am caught up in this wind and carried on a dream

And I fly.

~kathie adams brown (August 14, 2013)