Patriarchs of time and cyles,
brute strength pushing me forward when all I want to do is to rest for a while
and be still, to contemplate and adjust, not move on and forget.
After the fact I look
up. Feminine shades of hue outline
billowing puffs of compressed fog smiling into the rising sun. Stillness, stillness, they greet the rising
masculine one, but for this moment, all I have to do is to look, and see, and
be.
Despite the lightness of the
beauty, my heart is heavy, troubled. She
will never again be part of this stillness.
There will be no more morning coffees in quietness. No longer will blankets shelter us from the
outside cold, the outside time. No more
pancakes steaming on the grill. Still,
quiet moments of being are found, remembered -- time pressures in, erasing them
one by one.
Yet, if I stay quiet, and
turn my back to the rising sun, all I can see is beauty, and stillness, and
quietness. My soul rushes up to Thee, I
cannot remember, slowly I forget. The
sun warms my arms, my shoulders, my neck.
My coffee is almost gone. Memory
evaporates into light. I’ve got more
important things to do. I’m awake. I’m awake.
~ sdw
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