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  • Writer's pictureRev. Ani

The Sentinel of Steamboat Springs

Poems From The Porch

The aspens do a shimmy and a shake before it rains,

their dance an invocation to the gray clouds to lighten up.

Once the wet heaviness has been released,

the white-barked beauties settle into an uncanny stillness.

A few cacophonous crows are providing the morning bells today,

inviting all to awaken.

The air is still, but not quiet,

a mix of helicopter droning and busy street sounds,

providing a jambalaya that is filling but not tasty.

It feels incongruent, as I receive it,

this combination of visual loveliness, cool mountain breeze, and auditory noise.

It reminds me that everything is a gift,

no matter the packaging,

like the simply-wrapped morning yoga class, in which I participated yesterday,

and the joyfully adorned splash and play that I enjoyed in the afternoon.

Blue-eyed, gentle Sandy lead our yoking session,

her presence a beacon of love in the world;

and the Yampa River was the oasis where my life companion and I took a dive in the rapid-laden clear water.

Right now, I am observing a tiny bird who has been perched at the uppermost point of a blue spruce,

for what seems like an eternity.

I wonder if I will find him there when I return to the balcony tomorrow,

this Sentinel of Steamboat Springs.

His miniature, white breast,

turned toward the sun,

is a shining beacon inviting attunement to the sacredness of this moment.

May this poem be a beacon and sentinel for you, too.

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