If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.


--T.L. Stokes






Friday, March 4, 2011

Hallway between Storms

Here in the hallway
between storms
she waits. Ruffled up
occasionally calling
experiencing her breath
and the wind off the edge
of the branch circled nest.
Here we wait for the white
prize, the emblem of their
next generation. The hungry
mouth still silent and forming
it's first sound. What word
will come forth from such
a womb, circular and
without color, an eye,
an idea, a birth in
fragments.





March is the bald eagle's egg
laying time, between the wildest
storms comes an urging to give
life as a packaged celled jewel
with sleeping eyes within
the center of it's dark night.
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