Good morning, friends and readers. My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry. I either write a poem or share a poem by a different author and I ask you to do the same, in my Comments section. Visualize this space as a very peaceful (and socially distanced) hip café, where we have gathered together to do a poetry workshop, a free-for-all of release. Our souls are thanking us for this experience. Our spirits like to release themselves without the rigidity and the structure and the tattered stories that are so much a part of our regular lives. My poem for today (by me):
An Autumn Morning
Why do I love this morning so?
Rested body, last night’s sound sleep, deeply resonating.
Trickling, comfortably purring pond water,
background music as I write.
Sunshine illuminating the good side of the yard.
Dogs playing joyfully, underneath a perfectly constructed spider’s web,
(Note to self: I will leave that industrious little one’s masterpiece untouched).
As the day melds on into the week, and then into weeks,
I must listen to my inner voice,
the quiet voice which will ask me to bring myself back to this very moment.
How do I store this moment in an easily accessible memory bank?
A picture, a video, not even a gallery masterpiece will do this moment justice,
to the overall calming (yet at the same time equally energizing) sensation,
which this tranquil morning has gifted to me.
Perhaps if I bathe in the moment, lather in every sensation.
The residue of right now, won’t wash away and it will stay for keeps,
Like a layer of protection, a security blanket,
To soften any blows that may come my way,
when I inevitably forget that life can be, and often is,
as peaceful as a beautiful, softly decaying Autumn morn.