Rolling Thunder, Sky gone wild,

Brings fears and tears to an innocent child.

Lightning spears illume the night,

Torch once tree now the light.

Forest creatures nestled deep in their beds,

As winds of decision duel over their heads.

Why cries the child, what have I done,

Will I ever see return of the sun?

Be still my child, you’re safe in our arms,

From nature’s battles, and human harms.

For spring is the time we must abide,

When nature’s creations be tested and tried.

From the strength of root to the nest atop,

Winds thought as chaos continue non-stop.

Their work to challenge the broken and shed,

Removing old nests, limbs and the dead.

Now come stones of ice, the task to defy,

Weak structures of man, whose plans did belie.

Rain, the great wonder is last to arrive,

To rinse all of nature that we might survive.

So fear not the storm, for its purpose be just,

Without its strength, all would be dust.




On a crisp, bright spring morning, as golden sky arrows pierce the forest an old raccoon labors up a narrow path to the top of a hill there to lay his tired and worn body in the warm sun. His time of walking on is close and he doesn’t want it to be during the cold, still night.

He is disoriented as he reaches the top of the knoll, but he can feel the warmth encompass him. The aches and pains of his lifetime are now numb as he as he lay his sick old body in the warning grass. He rolls over several times heating each of his joints as though cleansing them in the warmth of the sun as he wipes the spittle from his beard and rubs his paws on the moist leaves.

Weary from his trek, he closes his eyes and wonders, “How long will it take? Will I suffer the pain of many others or the madness of the few?”

A sound, a muted growl comes from the small brush by the path. He knows this sound. He knows his pain will soon end. He lays still.

Slowly, as if losing a race with a snail, the intruder emerges from the brush its eyes darting in all directions as it searches for the source of the delicious aroma that has imposed upon his haven.

“There, look there it is!” it thinks as it focuses on the old one laying alone in the sun. It begins to salivate – hunger is overwhelming, clouding the mind as it attacks plunging fangs into the old raccoon.

“Welcome coyote. Welcome to death. No longer will you steal our young!” cries the raccoon as he, in turn, bites his foe one last time before shadows overtake him.

The coyote stops, an unfamiliar taste assaults his tongue as the stench of insanity flows into his body.

Too late wisdom, too late options, too late…

Father Sky

Father Sky, why do you send storms each spring?

“Am I not one with the Earth Mother my child? I send the storms to aid her in preparing for new life to emerge.”

Father Sky, are you angry when you fill your realm with rumbling and loud noises?

    “No my child, for does not the wise man warn his children of coming peril?

Father Sky, why do you make the clouds so dark and heavy before the storm?

“The clouds are heavy laden with the water all living things require.”

Father Sky, why do you shoot your flaming arrows into the Earth Mother?

    “My arrows help to make the elements needed by all living things.”

Father Sky, why do you make storm winds so fiercely blow?

“I charge the winds with a great responsibility. They are to blow dead leave, dust, weak and dead branches and old nests from the trees that new life might prevail.”

Father Sky, why do you make ice stones that fall hard upon the forest?

    “I send the ice stones to test the strength and endurance of all living things.

Father Sky, why do you make it rain so hard?

    “Like you my child, all living things need to be cleansed of the soils that cover.”

Father Sky, why do you send so much rain that it floods the land?

“Do you not rinse yourself before you leave your bath? Do you not wish for that which once soiled you to be removed from your feet?”

Father Sky, you are a very wise and caring father.

    “You, my child are very wise and caring to seek knowledge and wisdom.”