One Day At A Time
Leaving the path
I walk into the woods.
Sit on a fallen branch
within a circle of
pine trees, twigs, sticks,
rotting wood,
pine needles and
fallen leaves,
layer upon layer,
composted.
A decay that
nourishes these
silent giants
whose spongy
trunks soar to
reach the light
high above.
There is shelter
from the wind,
but beneath
the evergreen canopy,
the silence is total,
like death, yet
it calls me
to listen,
to strive
for the
light.
Water prickling,
seeping through pebbles,
over and under to the far-out sea.
Come back, come back, be filled.
One lonely gull,
no more than that to prove I exist,
here, now.
Mounds of brown sea-weed,
great lumps of slime and slither on denser rock.
The scent of ozone everywhere
neither sweet nor pungent, in my lungs, my mind.
Xylophone tinkles on pebbles,
Power of Cello in wise old rocks.
Trumpet call from standing trees
that hold the cliffs a few days more.
A muffled silence in sagging,
rain filled clouds,
the long, lonely, notes roaring in my ears.
Traffic Lights are red
The radio broadcasts jingles
that could get into your head.
Across the way,
two horses face each other.
as still as a day with no wind.
The silence of early morning light
with winged horses in flight,
lasso my willing soul.
