Thanks

With winds of thought we weave

The cloth we wear through life.

Like a thousand blooming trees

Hung with a thousand flowering buds,

Or a hundred rippling waters

Filled with a million flashing scales,

Like a sky hung high with clouds

Above a harvest full and green,

The life I weave through

Is abundance in name and form.

For this abundance,

For these threads,

For the garment we weave together,

Let us give thanks.

Home is the sense of belonging that’s found

In the eyes of a soul you adore,

Perfect understanding that whither you go,

Behind you there’s an open door.

Thirty some odd years ago

The greatest sight of all

Was twenty-three tall picture frames

Bereft of any gall.

My Valley