Misty Morning Breakdown

Stepping into the numinous, inescapable within this pre-dawn light, exacts a reverence in my walk quietly to the water, again to the water. Across the still pond a great blue herons grey silhouette, wresting its communion, raises his head and slowly steps onward. A beautifully deliberate liturgical dance. The smoldering hot embers of last night’s fire serve as oaken incense, distant cawing crows, a doxology. The stately white pines, their tops shrouded in mystery, await to whisper today’s tales. Curiously, squirrels are missing with their arguing, chattering sermons. Good news. It’s a good day for few words. The slippery rise of a fish chimes in accord.

Quickly, so quickly, a familiar quiet descends. Within seconds degrees are relinquished provoking a full body shiver. Staccato exhalations reveal my spirit, only to fade in doubt. The surrounding energy is needed elsewhere it seems; it has left. I sit abiding a raw, cold silence. For how long, how long, I do not know. My eyes grow heavy and tired before accepting the white sighs. Listening and gazing into the mist…now swirling and wistful …warmth slowly dawns as penetrating rays shine upon my face beside quickening waters.

Taps

Millions of years of evolution and we emerge

To this elevated period of walking head down

Eating head down living head down

All the while networking head down

With the discordant anxious tap tap, taps

Of our remarkable opposable digits

As if we held the programmed world in our hands

When the hands in our world need holding

What a cute couple…lovely couple

Did you two see that?

This insignificant little bird’s aerial acrobatics

Snatching that dusty dodging moth midair

Providing for its hungry trusting hatchlings

Nesting in the late evening rose lit

Carefree flowering crabapple tree

Under which your bowing heads appear in veneration

 

Tap tap, taps

No – I didn’t think so

Winter

I find myself on a country road
where its confines roll upward
in concave banks of a gathering whiteness.
Exquisitely carved mutability hides me within the powdered
pine trees defining its passage.
Whistling, talc like snow
races across the channeled lane,
at first above and then
descending,
baptizing me in the Lake’s effect.
Sometimes, I forget how pure it can be
within the alabaster serenity

of my most suffered season.