The Way is silent,
It was not to be, nor was it not to be.
There are no questions,
Not even a word.
Never say never,
I know that I know nothing.
Being is in Becoming.
So is life.
Paradox.
So I will say these things, so I will live, as only the nonsensical can make sense of this.
shrouded foggy hollow
clear rising sun peeks through....
the wild calls
Leaves dance around the maple, complaining
Grumbling that autumn’s breath is too near
And, I remember times that don’t need explaining
Leaping in piles of crunchy leaves, without fear
Melodies, graceful as a prayer in the soul
Glorifying the Creator of this gentle fall
Winds and rain couldn’t stop – we felt whole
Because of the wonder in that autumn’s call
We soared through the air toward the pile,
Mountains of leaves buried us in their scent
This is what it means to be a child with a smile
Playing in leaves with autumn’s quiet consent
It felt like a psalm was being read by this day
Our hearts knew the melody of such grace
This is the meaning of heaven sent, I pray
That everyone discovers autumn’s sweet embrace
On the hills, and in the valleys, there are leaves
Just waiting for a child’s laughter and mirth
It only takes this memory and my soul believes
Nature offers solace to the children on earth
The Trees ¦¦¦¦ Tassels -- hit -- and swung --
¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ to ¦¦¦¦ a Tune
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Accompanying the Sun --
Far Psalteries of Summer --
Enamoring the Ear
¦¦¦¦ never yet did satisfy --
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ -- when most fair
¦¦¦ Sun shone whole ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ --
Then Half -- then utter hid --
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Estates of Cloud
Sufficient to enfold Him
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ from view --
Except it were a whim of His
To let ¦¦¦ Orchards grow --
¦¦¦ Bird sat careless on the fence --
One gossipped ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
On silver matters ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ --
Bright Flowers slit a Calyx
And soared upon a Stem
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ -- Sweet hoisted --
With Spices -- in the Hem --
'Twas more -- I cannot mention --
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ -- ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ --
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
Of Nature's -- Summer Day!
(Blackout of The Trees like Tassels -- hit -- and swung -- by Emily Dickinson)
cool northerly wind blows
brown leaves falling from the trees
days grow short nights long
a sugar maple leaf slips free
counting toward One proof
the Seven Mysteries
God, I count prime gaps
I watch prime numbers growing
only primes orbit
a rule sends one step
loops return periods double
recursion counts One
an iteration
within fluid smoothness frays
water turns inward
can you see the curve
study elliptic rank shifts
findings test the rank
questions spiral out
unknown patterns circle back
pi bends into sight
a proof can be checked
still search cannot prove it now
checking outruns search
every loop turns east
the count folds back into form
through form, God's Haiku
the sugar-maple leaf settles on frost
children of the corn start to awaken
You're the artist with the pen,
the painter with the brush,
the designer with the colour swatches.
You interpret your dreams,
give rise to your ambition,
create your ideal future.
Your vision crystallizes at will,
draws upon your imagination
to materialize your surroundings.
There may be times of ugliness
when the world seems dark and
intent on dragging you down.
Remember this too shall pass,
renew your closeness with nature
and replenish that innate beauty and joy.
The leaves are starting to change color
The door opens, to bring a new season
My dog runs with his blue collar
He's dancing in the field without a reason
It's cloudy, but it's a quiet day
The signs of Autumn bring peace
My dog reminds me to be free, to play
I will hold a stop sign at stress increase
It's a blessing, more time this is
to live, to love, to give, to be
As i share some of what is his,
I praise vision for all that I see
The purple flowers look at me
with wide open blossoms, like eyes
Then, I notice the buzzing bee
reminding me time doesn't stop, it flies
Heidi Sands
9/17/26
(C)opyright
The loons haunt the sunset
Whispered warning in the darkness
Alert the fawn as it slowly sips
A last golden arrow
Pierces the edges of nightfall
Tiptoes across the silent lake
Each ripple an unseen presence
Both prey and predator
Searching for each other
The moon square dances
With its prancing shadows
Changing partners on the wind
The stars hold their applause
pearl-soft rain gathers
at the threshold of early spring;
your compass traces
a quiet path through the silver air,
where calm awe begins to rise.
The late-summer track runs blue with deep shade,
While cicadas rasp in sun-whitened trees;
And ask what secret lives inside the breeze,
You clasp my hand where sandy gullies fade.
I show the compass, by the years decayed,
Whose faithful needle leans, and never flees;
We watch the foam that feathers on the seas,
While on the shore our wandering steps are made.
You ask where north goes, in your small voice calm,
As though the world was just this morning born;
You spy a blue-tounged skink beneath a thorn,
And hold a broken shell within your palm.
The compass points its north through dusk and foam;
Your wondering hand points farther still—to home.
The sun shyly peeked over the hill
as the cold air made whispers audible
and the dissipation began to rise from the dunes.
The morning breeze stirred flurries of sand from dunes
where shadows stubbornly clung to the face of the hill.
A susurrus from the cops barely audible.
Upon the bench in the lee of fickle dunes
the old brass plaque gleamed in rays cresting the hill:
an inscription of grief no longer audible.
Ridged hill of letters, promises audible among dunes.
A blade of grass - trod upon and dejected
Looked wistfully at the beauty around -
'Why am I so ordinary?' he sighed,
'The humblest creation ever to be found!'
Then came magical autumn with her dewdrops galore!
One dropped on him like a diamond rare -
And, lit up with fire in the rising moon
In that moment of beauty - none else could compare!
As with all things it began small,
As a whisper, a glint, a glimmer
A distant chickadee giving voice
To a sun that rose ever silently
And a morn that seemed ever,
And ever more promising of wonder
Fleeting westward the veil’d stars
And rolling thunder
Dappling tears
That shed their gladness
The growing light abate the fears
Wrought, the wet groaning night.
And it seemed a slow standing ovation
A clatter of chirps, cars and school children
Beginning their ritual’d day
A smattering of clouds forming and deforming
As the orchestra began to play
And my window became a ringing call
Beckoning me to my door,
To turn the knob that had secured me before
Symbolizing a threshold—of a freedom
That lay beyond—
And more.
classic cran companion tunelessly twirlingly retiring
noiselessly in normalcy ,
lambertia on the glowing stairway
and whispering sunberry reflection
with prim parallel pass .
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
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