there are no children to pull off freshly painted walls tonight,
no needy husband’s hands to fence with
this night belongs to being
in a noisy silence
autumnal evening sounds
assaulting ears bent toward quiet
cricket song and the last of the cicada concerto
remnantsof a living earth preparing
for the hibernation of retreating into oneself
linger here at the dusk of summer’s end
maples bowing low and heavy
offering palm sized leaves
only southern trees can grow
and hereI sit amongst the California red grapes
and their blended blissful bounty
in gratitude for their harvest
blue velvet sky bleeds violet lines
with the surrender of the sun
I am in silence
I am at rest
I am whole
the fearfulness of truth
with this, a tiny revelation comes
reflectively hidden in stars
strewn ‘cross the blackening sky
heralded by twilight’s whispered presence
bound to human rest
a Sabbath understanding
there is Holiness
in the simplicity of stillness
I am awake now
these quiet eyes do see
purpose in solo revelry
secrets tucked into my heart
like tissues in pillow cases
for moments of weeping
draw them out
during the dark night of the soul
for it always cometh
amidst it’s plight remember
this stillness and grope for peace
with muscle memory
cultivated in solitude
one by one
and become again
bound to quiet understanding
and begin with the hope
of dawn’s promised procession
crickets quiet, owls steal away
and with the son’s arrival,
the first fat rays of presence
define us once more
as those who dwell among the living
drawn into the warmth of day
and remind us we belong there
in reverence we draw light with breath
and exhale luminous awe
from ominous oneness
and in that moment we shall
be still and know
Linking up with dVerse, we are looking at the moments of solitude... these are mine.
