Look to the Sky


When I find myself feeling down and in despair, I either step outside or look out of my window, then allow my eyes to pan upward and breathe. There is something mysteriously wonderful, resonant and placid about looking up towards the sky and realizing that even if everything around me is in disarray, for this moment, I am okay.

I opened the blinds to my bay-window a couple of days ago and from each angle of the window, the sky looked different. The right end window showed nothing but stormy dark gray clouds. As I walked to the center window I saw gray clouds mixed with white clouds against a Carolina blue sky. My curiosity led me to walk over to the last window and there was a wisp of gray clouds floating among fluffy white clouds, against a beautiful blue backdrop.

Sky, Meditation

As I steady my gaze and think about it, I ask if the sky truly changes or is it a resolute universal canvas? I wonder if the lens of our perspective is zeroing in on transitions like the earth’s rotation, seasonal changes, the sun and moon’s movement, and the clouds drifting between the sky and us, atmospherically teaching us new lessons? The variations of clouds I saw from my window were circumstances, remnants moving away as a rainstorm just past through. Behold, the sun began peaking through in all of its brilliance.

Sky, Universe

All I know is the sky is a portrait that is ever-evolving within my emotionally charged spirit. No special effects needed. That is the type of peace that surpasses my understanding. Some things are seen and felt, and cannot offer an explanation. Sometimes the feeling becomes the explanation.

Sky, Nature

Nature, Sky

Meditation, Sky

Meditation, Sky

Sky, Universe

Sky, Nature, Tranquility

Sky, Universe, Moon

Sky, Rainbow

*Photos courtesy of and found in public domain.


Weather I Write or Not

Snowing, Snow Showers, Winter Weather

No doubt I, like other writers pull out our pens and keyboards and seek a nostalgic moment of clarity in the presence of atmospheric climate pattern changes. Yesterday morning I watched powdered sugar coated snowflakes whisper to leafless branches of oaks and maples while stroking the long slender needles of pines, and landing silently on any surface that welcomed its presence.

Is there a brilliance of creativity dancing in the nucleus of observation, a brilliance that forces us to stop, listen and look to where the depths of spiritual discovery lies in the genius of weather-related silence? And how do our moods change and our heart rate intensify when the ferociousness of wind, rain and snow strike violently like a bold slap on the face when such gentleness turn to brutal storms?

For now, I marvel at this scene of falling flakes as I’ve witnessed many times before as if this is the first time. I never tire of moments like this when I stare at showers of flakes disappearing in a flush of gentle kisses on top of the lake. I would be remiss not to say thank you God for the opportunity to show my gratitude in a moment like this, “weather” I write or not.

Poetry for the Day: Autumn Wanes to Winter

Autumn, Fall, Leaves Falling, Poetry

Typically, by this time of the year, all of the leaves from the trees would have fallen, blanketing the ground with warmth. Interestingly, this year has been unseasonably warm throughout the Fall season and we still have some leaves left on our trees. As the winter season approaches this week, we begin saying so long to the last remnants of Autumn 2017.

Autumn Wanes to Winter

To everything there is a season, so we wait
in the wand of autumns unfurling show
its spectacular brilliance of colors transform
bursting forth with the cycle of change

it wanes into the looming lips of winter
falling leaves cascade like crystal snowflakes
branches once dense now a skeleton of delay
where the tree neither dies nor falters

but it rests for the new journey ahead
an unseen formation of energy kindling within
as the soul of the tree kisses each cycle of life
amid the chill it waits, transforms, and flourishes.

© Kym Gordon Moore

Poetry of A Summer Twilight Clear

Summertime, Poetry, Full Moon

Image Credit: Sheila Brown

As summer winds down and as the days shorten, if you live in an area where nature sings it’s daily and evening songs, you can’t help it when you are moved to momentary silence. It’s such a beautiful thing.

A Summer Twilight Clear

It came upon a summer twilight clear
I sit, surrounded by peace surpassing all understanding
I watched the birds retreat to their treetops
as a rambunctious squirrel scurried for his last evening acorn
strobing fireflies sparkled momentarily aglow
I looked upward towards the south eastern sky
and saw the face of the moon smiling in full brilliance
I smiled back and whispered all is well with my soul.

© Kym Gordon Moore

Nature Never Stops Teaching Me Life Lessons

Nature, Banana Trees, EnduranceWhat has nature taught you lately? Last week, I knew I faced a daunting task I was procrastinating about for a few months now. Last fall my husband and I dug up the banana trees planted around our deck, covered the roots and stored all of them in the crawl space under our house for winter.

Well, we replanted two-thirds of them the first week in April this year and after being so pooped and achy from a days worth of replanting, I left the balance of them in the crawl space to trash on another day. Well, needless to say, I kept putting off this chore and finally decided that they had to go before the 4th of July got here. Although I tried to give the trees away, people are not as fascinated by caring for banana trees as I am. So everyone declined the gift.

Banana trees, Nature, EnduranceOn June 27, I put on my gardening gloves, fought the creepy crawlers and colony of spiders (Ewwww) that slowly scattered when I opened the crawl space door and I stood there looking in a state of shock. Yep, I was amazed that in the darkness, trees began to sprout perpendicularly and busted through the plastic bags that the root of the tree was housed in. Totally freaked me out. I cut the host stalks off and discarded them, but kept the new sprouts as you can see from the photos.

I suppose these youngins taught me a lesson about growing in the shadows of death valley. They showed me what it is like to keep ‘going’ and ‘growing’ where you are, even when darkness and hopelessness surround you. When the host stalk appeared to die, their roots of endurance continued to thrive, perhaps at a slower pace, but nonetheless, their perseverance under duress made me examine myself under similar spiritual conditions.

Sometimes when situations look hopeless, when you suffer oppression from injustice and abuse, or when grief strikes you so violently that all you can do is moan, as easy as it may feel to just give up, wither and die, that is the very time you never give up. That’s a tough thing to do, but yet a very courageous decision to make.

I am reminded of two things from this experience with these baby banana trees: the poem, written by Jane Eggleston, “It’s in the Valleys I Grow” and a quote someone gave me when my father passed away, “Bloom Where God Plants You.” The older we get, everyone will go through an “in the valley of the shadows of death” experience; some more extreme than others, but this is a test of resilience and individual fortitude that we claim victory in spite of.