Kate Lamberg Center for Natural Healing and Creative Arts~

the mornings the birds "sleep in" until after sunrise are those special days when conception begins at home, in the native surrounding trees of maple, cherry, oak, aspen, poplar, and myrtle   the thin crease the thin crisp changeable crease between dawn, and sunrise delivers a stillness, not altogether quiet-- undetected in the busy vocal world viewing this edge of sunrise   seals the promise of showing up,   unguarded to this gentle music-- unparalleled to any other time- for worship is still for worship is still the celebration of all things greater than the "I" how the world is complicated when it charades as containing a million eyes--   there is just one there is just one maple tree outside this window, and only four cherry trees poised in a circle-- north and east of this window there is just one beating heart   witnessing a growing beauty, and two hazel eyes registering-- the fine details o...

 words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18      even a broken window,  and an unhinged door  bring the strength of trapezoids, and the light of triangles enough for spirit. to soar--- basking in the realization,  to pour miracles--through the arc of a porcelaine creamer-- settling the score.. .  

  being the way water moves, and just grooves.. unconcerned with the outcome- the calm settles in, warms the naked covering, heats up in shallow sandy shoreline, leaves the body of water loaded with salt, and blessed with current, lets out steam, enters the air,  fuses with the sky, as the wind wind becomes non-hurried, coursing both towards, and away from the shore--  how it whips around the great rock, without trepidation or fear, ultimately   enters stillness, as she ceases her mighty howl water, as wind-touches all points in between, and becomes touched on all points-- on earth, as in heaven words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

 soul dancing sweeps dancer off feet, out the door-there is so much serenity in the garden at 6 am... to turn around the far fetched idea of scarcity- bones encased with muscled grace -so very early, pearls on iris greens, flaunt their sheen, and trees spill watery essence-sensing--the presence of something greater growing from the center of one open heart, eyes softening in the sweet recognition of a slow waltzed change- fragrant with citrus, rosemary,& catmint--heaven sent!

“ it  was a riverside meadow, lush from before the harvest.”  milosz before the harvest, we were free before the harvest we were free to watch the corn shoot clearly through the low hanging clouds, neither proud nor meek, we heard the dying grasses speak a summer tongue-- translating a still hot summer into a more bearable, fragrant fall a  call to drop arms, guns, knives at the source of a drum drumming in the deep green of a late summer wood the middle of the harbor heaving its blue green, glistening in a tired summer sun ushering all of us in for a swim- how late august brings us to our knees, in gentle pleas to get on with the cooler, more easily breathable season we call autumn  words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

icarus dives into the sea after having his wings singed no one looked, no one seemed to care farmers till  the soil, with home made plows, and tirelessly walk in the plush fertile soil on a hillside somewhere in the netherlands,  back in the day--when they  truly reaped what they did sow when weddings were king; a dislodged door was used as a serving tray for local treats kicking up the saw dust,  within  an ancient barn-- carousing into song ~kate lamberg (c) '18

dancers dance through a rain soaked yard, gathering momentum-- their turned-in modern dancer feet point at the vast vagaries of a growing day in greeness, all is seen through the flick-flacking of rain pearls off of irises staying put for just a complete breath cycle- then leaping- to make sense of how the highest order of birds line up in the garden, their hidden bird song pushing the question mark, returning to an exclamation point...(!) onto a downy soft soil no matter what, we keep surging through just how previous dramas--pulled out by their roots dry in the sun flowers fading after the two week peak remain pensive, and do implore us to see the centuries of cycles repeating themselves turning towards another way of expediting a journey, neither jelled or running away-- a kind of herbal soup contained in an earthen bowl left out in the cool may rain words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18