Poetry Of Spirit And Light: My Cup Runneth Over

Once again the Thunderbird and White Owl Woman expend their wrath upon the people and borderlands of the Northern Llano Estacado. Not by unleashing arctic blizzards or blustery thunderstorms, but by withholding their life-giving furies. The winter prairie longs for short-lived blankets of the frozen, white stuff to light up her dusty countenance and then revive her zest for life with rivulets of snow melt. And, regardless of the season thunderstorms are always welcome.

Hazy morning sunlight greets Cooper and me as the winter storms continue to rage to the east and south. Gray mists on the northern horizon seethe with reminders of the White Owl Woman’s passing. They ooze frigid temperatures and inspire winds to tease color into my cheeks. My beard provides a measure of comfort. We look for a brief respite from the biting cold. As we near a stand of Siberian Elm, a boisterous parliament of crows flutters playfully among the bare tree tops. Their raspy cacophony encourages a new perspective--life goes on, stop dwelling on misery, and have fun.

I forge into the prairie wilds with a song in my heart and smile on my lips. Cooper blazes a new trail. I follow eagerly. The prairie speaks of the unalterable circle of life--out with the old, in with the new. Dried grasses and forb skeletons hint of past glories and whisper of splendor to come.

By afternoon sun and azure skies dominate the day. Cooper and I venture into town. I find St James Church a delightful oasis of serenity and visual beauty. Upon return to our home, Cooper and I settle in for a few moments of relaxation. The western skies are ablaze. Turn on the night lights. It’s been a day of awesome wonder. My cup runneth over.