Today it rained
Summer was dry.
Drought parched the earth.
Sadly, fires burned through forests
on the mountains.
Then clouds gathered like a gift
and an answered prayer
Today it rained a good rain,
a steady downpour
drumming on the roof,
pouring from canales,
pattering loudly everywhere.
High above, clouds opened
and sunlight spilled down
upon the world.
Now, fragrances of autumn
float in damp air.
Yellow tints glisten with droplets
upon the leaves.
My breath feels fresh
and my soul washed clean
like the shimmering world around me.
Thomas Burnham French ©
Horse whisperer
Life is a breath in the wind,
yet timeless among infinite stars.
I ride a stallion of dreams
upon this fertile Earth
and out across star-filled heavens.
To know oneself and love oneself
is to own some golden light.
I have traversed through all the varied landscapes
that breathe within me.
I know myself like I know no other.
I embrace myself in solitude.
Wild by nature in an untamed pasture,
a large, white stallion,
galloped towards me
and I stood my ground.
It halted abruptly before colliding,
and I felt his hot, moist breath upon my face.
Later, when it shattered its leg,
we became friends.
After hobbling for months,
he sat quietly for three days and nights
in long grass before he died.
To be a horse whisperer
and call elk, coyotes, owls, and deer into my dreams
is to gain the Earth as my companion
and vast heavens within the starry night.
Thomas Burnham French©
A flock of words
A flock of words
lifts from overgrown fields,
rising like wild Canada geese,
then alighting again
upon a small river meandering
through a woodland.
They settle into rippling water,
floating on slow currents into quiet pools.
What words emerge within us
and lift on wings from still waters of memory
to land upon a single page?
What light and shadows interplay in memory?
The geese return, year after year,
their honking echoing through a wide valley
of sparse woodlands and pastures.
Beyond, mountains stand like sentries,
listening in the distance.
Words arise,
circling in my mind
like the geese I am watching
as they circle the pond,
then glide downward, wings spread,
and land upon the water.
Thomas Burnham French©
Above distant hills
Glowing softly as it lifts
into the night,
a full moon rises above distant hills.
It whispers of eternity
among endless stars
strewn across the heavens.
Who can quell their dreams from appearing
in the miracle of our existence?
Thomas Burnham French ©