Blurbs & Reviews
No such thing as a new beginning, but perhaps a turning, a point on the spiral to take in the view. This morning I woke late to the wind. The sun was up and the sky a flat white. The crows who fly their morning route already in the neighbor’s … Continue Reading January 1st, 2019
PDF: CV Ren Powell des2018 komplett
The world is never, really quiet. There are waves in the darkness that beat a rhythm through our very cells.
An electric light at dawn, anticipating the lengthening night.
This little window of autumnal sunrises before dark creeps over my mornings.
The last morning of a summer
of unexpected ease.
An arch of light on the horizon.
Summer is leaving the lake now. There is a quieting all along the trail.
Footfall and breath, and an absence of birdsong.
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.
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.
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.