"Still Water" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
“The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear.” ~Attributed to Zen teaching
O quiet river, keeper of the sky,
You lie beneath the latticework of trees
As though the earth itself had learned to sigh
And rest in its own breath with gentle ease.
No wind disturbs your glass of silver-blue,
No hurried thought comes rippling through your frame;
The world, untroubled, gathers into you
And finds within your depths a softened name.
The branches bend, yet do not break your grace--
They enter you as whispers, not as weight;
And clouds drift slowly through your mirrored face,
As if both time and sky have learned to wait.
You are no idle mirror fixed in place,
But living glass that never stays the same;
Each passing moment leaves a fleeting trace,
Yet none remain—and none can lay a claim.
O stillness, how you gather what is true:
Not by possession, but by letting be.
For only when the waters quiet through
Can they reveal both world—and self—to see.
The sages knew—old voices carried far--
That restless hearts reflect a fractured light;
But calm, like you, reveals us as we are,
Whole as the moon upon a windless night.
And so I sit, with morning in my hand,
A simple mug of coffee, warm and near,
While sunlight softly wakes this wooded land
And fills the quiet spaces, bright and clear.
Within this wee cottage, day begins--
And through the air, as though from some soft glass,
Through the Looking Glass gently spins,
A melody like thoughts that drift and pass.
The river holds the sky. The sky, the trees.
The trees, the light. The light, this quiet hour.
And somewhere in that stillness, I find peace--
Not as a thing to grasp, but as a flower.
And so, this day begins.
~Wylddane
(This is dedicated to my dear friend Gail)
O quiet river, keeper of the sky,
You lie beneath the latticework of trees
As though the earth itself had learned to sigh
And rest in its own breath with gentle ease.
No wind disturbs your glass of silver-blue,
No hurried thought comes rippling through your frame;
The world, untroubled, gathers into you
And finds within your depths a softened name.
The branches bend, yet do not break your grace--
They enter you as whispers, not as weight;
And clouds drift slowly through your mirrored face,
As if both time and sky have learned to wait.
You are no idle mirror fixed in place,
But living glass that never stays the same;
Each passing moment leaves a fleeting trace,
Yet none remain—and none can lay a claim.
O stillness, how you gather what is true:
Not by possession, but by letting be.
For only when the waters quiet through
Can they reveal both world—and self—to see.
The sages knew—old voices carried far--
That restless hearts reflect a fractured light;
But calm, like you, reveals us as we are,
Whole as the moon upon a windless night.
And so I sit, with morning in my hand,
A simple mug of coffee, warm and near,
While sunlight softly wakes this wooded land
And fills the quiet spaces, bright and clear.
Within this wee cottage, day begins--
And through the air, as though from some soft glass,
Through the Looking Glass gently spins,
A melody like thoughts that drift and pass.
The river holds the sky. The sky, the trees.
The trees, the light. The light, this quiet hour.
And somewhere in that stillness, I find peace--
Not as a thing to grasp, but as a flower.
And so, this day begins.
~Wylddane
(This is dedicated to my dear friend Gail)
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