First Chance

First chance to write here,

The wind blows it all through:

Fog, Fir, dust, ideas, moods and do-over’s. 

            A place where personality is not rewarded,

Rather, the work finished. Haul, lift, stumble, bend, dig,

Grouch, curse, straighten, and letting

The breath pass through, smell of Clary Sage, its purple fountain

And furry leaves.

            Now, some quiet seconds of clarity

When the treetops are motionless.

These second and third chances at getting it right,

Are gifts to a beginner caught in the gusts of ego

Of passion, attitude, impatience and Dark

Moods, pulled like tides

Between hunger and sleep – sun and moon. 

These humble things we do over and over and over

Like gardening, apologizing and

Persevering for higher good.

Praise the fourth and fifth chances at getting it right.