Tag: nature
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Last Flight
The slender-billed curlew has officially been declared extinct by the IUCN — the first bird in history to vanish across three continents: Europe, Africa, and Asia. Once a graceful traveller between seasons, it’s now a silence stretching from marsh to sky. Some songs end where the wind begins.
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Sky Burial
Sky burial is a sacred Tibetan ritual where the body is returned to nature, offered to birds of prey as an act of release and renewal. They say it frees the soul. But grief isn’t so easily lifted.
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All the Birds are Gone
The sky doesn’t hum like it used to.We traded songsfor signal towersand forgot the soundof wings over wheat. Benches sit emptyin parks built for someone else’s childhood.Swings move only with the wind now,no laughter to push them. We speak in pingsand half-hearted hearts,thumb-pressed loveand silence that scrolls onlonger than grief. We taught our childrento fear…
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Shaping a Poem
It’s a quiet thing, a word foundin the stillness of dawnwhile dreamers slumberand the new moon succumbsto day. A fading thought,soft intake of breathin the long pause between sleep and wake.Sometimes it’s hopeenduring wildfire, flood,or the dusts of time.Maybe dinosaur bones,a lost tomb, or scarecrowsguarding lavender fields. Perhaps a dew-drizzledcobweb, a jonquil, cloudor song. Most…
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Daughter of the Plains
Ochre soaked skies, sunrise woke her – blue grass seas lilt behind stained glass at dawn. On morning’s grace she’s borne. Ryan Stone
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From the Sidelines
Do you know how it feels to stand alone in a forest in the caesura of a gathering storm? With a graceful pirouette the north wind about-faces and just as quickly a sou’ wester replaces the breathy, dry kisses of long afternoons in the sun. Drawing breath from your lungs and heat from your soles,…
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In the Shade of the Tree Ferns
No path here.Just damp earth,moss on stone,and the slow, deliberate hushof growing things. Tree ferns arc overhead,fronds wide as arms,filtering lightinto something sacred. I brought my sons here,when their legs were smalland full of mud.They squatted in the black soil,drew patterns with sticks,found joyin a single wriggling earthworm. The ferns, the filtered light—none of it…
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Night Dancing
Dusky pink moonlight Cherry blossom arabesque Dreaming tomorrows Ryan Stone
