September 18th

The world is never, really quiet. There are waves in the darkness that beat a rhythm through our very cells.

Dance.

August 20th

An electric light at dawn, anticipating the lengthening night.

This little window of autumnal sunrises before dark creeps over my mornings.

August 14th

The last morning of a summer
of unexpected ease.
An arch of light on the horizon.

August 13th

Summer is leaving the lake now. There is a quieting all along the trail.

Footfall and breath, and an absence of birdsong.

August 11th

The sky was still dark at 4.45 when I woke to meditate. White by the time we hit the trail. These last mornings running in the half-light before the cows are taken in, and all the geese have flown south, I breathe it all in.

Now, while the world is wet and the fallen pine needles still green.

August 9th

Not dreaming, but stepping on egg shells this morning.

It’s been a week since I heard the cuckoo, though the songbirds are still here, getting on with the effort of living before they leave us to another season of darkness and crows.

Listening to Other Voices

February 10th, 2018 I have nothing to add. No commentary. I had never seen this before. I hope I’m in the minority.   Paul Laurence Dunbar.