Slipping into Now

Slipping into now


Those days
when all looks
then a sunrise,
a most beautiful dawn.

With pulsating life
in my every cell,
this limited body
easily forgets;
Soul is forever eternal.


Grieving the past,
Collects pain
in the morrow,
when all is done,
it feels hollow.

This day,
there is life,
Dawn has arrived.

Hélène Vaillant©

Secret Affair

For: The Sunday Whirl (frozen, rope, saint, rasping, hazy, folded, gusts, holy, home, poverty, crazy

The old Monastery lies at the bottom of a ravine.  Cloistered monks living within these crumbling stone walls have all renounced worldly life and taken a vow of poverty. During the winter months, gusts of cold air travel through the frozen corridors.   This is their Holy Home.

Brother Saint Francis has a room next to Brother Timothy. Whenever Francis sits quietly in his room he keeps hearing strange rasping noises.  He questions Timothy about it but Timothy says he has never heard anything.

As soon as Francis returned to his own room, Timothy reaches for the secret opening he carved in the floor under his bed. Moving his simple cot to the back wall, a hazy cloud of dust spreads throughout the room.

Within this small opening Timothy gazes into the eyes of a big fat rabbit.  With a rope tied around one of its little legs, a folded hand towel for a pillow, the rabbit lies quietly inside an earth bottom box.

“You crazy little rabbit, you must keep quiet”!

Timothy says to the rabbit.

Hélène Vaillant©

Old Oak Tree


Written for Daily Prompt: Circle

At the feet of the old oak tree, we danced round and round with abandon. Our circle was charged with reverence honoring our tree’s fidelity.

This mighty oak provided countless quiet shelter right there under its expanding arms. The old oak soaked all our utmost secrets which we related to him in this quiet solitude of its shadow.

Our old friend always rejoiced with the approaching laughter of excited little children. Children would caress its core as a dear child clings to a mother.

Today, a fierce storm passed through our field breaking our ancient oak in half.  It succumbed mercilessly falling noisily to the ground.

Once again we gathered our circle, hand in hand at the fallen feet of  our nature guru. We offered humble praise for his life.

With hope in our hearts new circles will be born, the old oak’s seeds will bring new tender shoots.  In the field children will discover standing little oaks.

The undying circle of nature will come to be through mother nature’s undenying rejuvenation.

The circle of life will be shared through kind spirit generations.

Hélène Vaillant© September 30, 2017