Down soft white blanket covering the land sends me walking late afternoon in frigid temps not seen in almost a hundred years. fwoosh fwoosh fwoosh Stillness breaths me expands my ribs enlivens the bones of my soul and dampened sound relaxes my mind. fwoosh fwoosh fwoosh Nothing left to sense but chittering sharp bird calls soft dove coos and geese honking at a distance. fwoosh fwoosh fwoosh Water trinkles a gentle song echoing in the creek its melody for lyric avians. fwoosh fwoosh fwoosh Crisp drops of air silently mark the time. fwoosh fwoosh fwoosh
Yes, these related words appeared in the puzzle from blind draws, none put back. All used.
Late day sun dances
leaves to music from the breeze.
Mend and sew another hole,
wax another scuff on leather thin as paper.
Putter ’round the barn,
rake straw leavings down absent any goal.
Down the lane it’s all the same
an empty afternoon.
A pair appear, Dam and foal
trotting ‘long the dappled way.
Sorrel bright as fire
shine like honey drops of light.
Oh my this is going to be fun! From my morning solitairy letter tile crossword I shall produce a poem. It will be fun to see what they become; meaningful or amusing. They shall be in any case.
That jitter of youth vies for position,
in the verdant dale,
in tents cast along the vein of gold.
Time jets across the earth and eyes
unable to hold the gaze
sense telomeres wear
to frazzled end.
Bright pavilions turn loden.
In this valley of Spring,
quo the oxen tires.
Laid to rest
my body floats.
Awareness arises between cells whose actions seem suspended.
There’s a finger;
oh, and a palm.
Yes, they are attached.
Too difficult to travel the arm.
Let go of details.
This body once strong has lost its power.
Floating as a warrior awaiting fiery arrows that will turn the vessel to ash,
release my soul.
Peacefully I relinquish.
Faint memories of a warrior’s body flow into another dream.
Today is Winter Solstice. It’s the shortest day of the year and thus, the longest night. Light some candles. Curl up inside. Breathe deeply and let the winter in. Winter has within it the magic of stillness. A natural time of year to reflect and sit with your inner world. Let it reveal itself to you. Go to sleep with the awareness and let it hibernate for a while. Dream a bit. Spring is for the flowering. Winter is for rest before the renewal.
You are old
You have lived and let go allowing deadwood to fall away
as you sprout in fresh new directions
You shade the place I lie
looking up at your grandfather branches
your baby leaves
and all the lives ringing in your limbs
Winds have bent you
Storms broken you
but you live on
strong from swaying
Rooted firm and sure
you shelter and teach me
I your child your student
adore and admire you
Death. Not the peace of passing to another realm and discovering truth, but the still, cold absence of everything. Awareness without a body, without senses, bereft of an identifiable self. Deep loss and no emotions with which to feel it; just knowing that loss is there and feeling is not. There is no connection to anything that provides a framework for self-identification. A conscious vacuum. This chasm I free fall into each time I leap toward the unwordable awareness of deep existence as one and as all.
Then I grapple for paper, pen and words.
Just keep your wits about you and sail your ship. Swab the deck when it’s time to swab the deck. Hoist a pint when the sails are down. But pay attention to the course and don’t get all googly watching the sunset and run into a glacier.