I Sat with the Bees

 

 

At the foot of my Grandmother Mountain
with my walking sticks I walked
up through fields of silent green and gold.
I found an old stone and sat
gazing out to Her pointed peaks,
Her Grandfather side.
Bees sang to me, continuing
their endless, ageless song
from yellow to yellow, full of pollen.
I sat in peace and gratitude.
Gathering chi from this sacred place,
giving the chi to my heart,
I sat with the bees
until meditation took me over.
Opening my eyes,
again and again I gave thanks.

Annelinde Metzner

August 16, 2024
(at Grandmother Mountain) 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Returning

 

Azalea in my front yard

Each year more precious,
the rebirth of Spring!
As if now, at my age, I have my doubts,
mired down in tasks and obligations,
living just day-to-day, sunrise to sunset.
But this! The joy of brand-new life,
a quickening in the brown Earth,
and in my soul.
The lilac is back,
each bud bursting into four-petalled sweetness.
Deep in the dry leaf mold,
bloodroot arises from the forest floor,
its sap vermillion, exploding with life energy
into unique white variegated wonder.
Dandelions resume their relentless growth
with a yowl!
Trillium emerges, complete,
ready to live a miracle of grace.
And I too burst forth.
Spring flowers gorgeously in my chest,
silencing my fears,
pulling me back, whee!
into my place in the wonder of living.


Annelinde Metzner
April 8, 2016

Trillium

Bloodroot

Chickweed

Baby jewelweed

Metaphor

 

 

 

 

It's a March day, not warm yet-
The chill breeze has me in sweaters still.
But in my little flower bed, life stirs!
Everywhere, daffodils burst forth,
nodding their heads in orange, yellow and white.
Among last year's dry leaves,
green pushes out, bold and confident.
Lenten roses, tulip buds,
peony stalks like voluptuous red asparagus.
Here and there, a primrose,
lemon balm, anise and mint.
The perfect shapes of bleeding hearts,
my Grandmother's favorite.
Delightful after winter's long inward turning,
each green being comes forth waving,
like a long-lost friend.
Is there a metaphor here?
Everything we've planted can be reborn. 

Annelinde Metzner

March 20,2024

 

 

Lenten rose

Bleeding Heart

Peony