December dawn

I wake
after having slept
without rest
mind weary
of turning, turning

I throw off
the heavy blanket
of night
of darkness
to stand shivering
on the chilly cusp

there is no sound
just hush

and my heart grasps
before my eyes glimpse
the glimmering

before I know it
I’ve thrown open the door
to stand
barefoot in the frost
still nightgowned
as birds glide high above
round and round
tracing infinity signs

against rose-gold clouds
in silence
in ceremonial welcome
of day

first light, ever bright
parts the pink veils
a sun so, so old
yet so golden-new

peeks through

and I think
of beginnings
not endings
of possibility
not inadequacy

of movement
not stasis

there are no words
only the distant
occasional rustle
of feathered wings
from on high

and in that

I rest


with thanks to Two Writing Teachers for the weekly Slice of Life invitation to write
and to all who gather here to encourage one another
on the writerly journey

33 thoughts on “December dawn

  1. From unrest to peace and possibility. This poem captures it all. We’ve seen some amazing sunsets and sunrises here, too. The sun’s rays cast such incredible colors in the sky, which, like you, cause me to stop and see. Love this…”a sun so old yet so golden-new”. Thanks for starting my day off right with your words and images.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love the imagery of this poem: as birds glide high above
    “round and round
    tracing infinity signs
    against rose-gold clouds
    in silence
    in ceremonial welcome
    of day”
    Thanks for painting a morning sky that brings me peace today.


  3. Beautiful! I often run out in my pyjamas to take pictures in the morning, but I assume it’s a lot warmer where I am than where you are! Ruth,

    Liked by 1 person

  4. There is so much I love about this work, Fran. For me, the whole thing conveys sunrise, a coming into light. We start with sights and sounds of the cold, the stark, the absolute – and we gradually move to subtleties of light, of air, of color. The mood lightens and changes imperceptibly until, like watching the sunrise, all of a sudden we are transported from night to day.

    I’m also racking my brain for another reading passage this reminds me of. I think it’s from a book, and the author talks about the crack of dawn that occurs in the wintertime. It is LITERALLY a crack of dawn, in which the narrator can stand outside on a cold winter’s night and actually HEAR the sounds that accompany the coming of day.

    Thanks, as always, for beautiful writing that makes my day. And thank you for being part of my writing community. You are WONDERFUL.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Such a lovely analysis ❤️ Now I must know that work about the crack of dawn! Sounds so intriguing & uplifting. Know that you are a priceless part of my writing community also, Lainie. I am grateful for you and for all of your words – and your feedback 🤗

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, I know that it was from some novel or poem I had read. Thinking it was told from a farmer’s point of view, perhaps, and perhaps it took place in New England…? It’s just a loose image floating around for me – not sure I’ll be able to nail it down. But if I do? You’ll be the first to know!

        Liked by 1 person

  5. Your words were balm to my slightly frazzled self this morning. If the full cabins at my Getaway in the Piney Woods last weekend are an indicator, this pandemic has reminded a lot of us of the healing properties of nature–if we just take the time to notice. There is rest in the knowledge of the continuing presence of our Sun, the cycle of the seasons. Have you read Wintering by Katherine May yet? I am a quarter in, and find a connection between your poem and her writing today.

    Liked by 1 person

    • There really is rest in the continuity of nature – and healing. I hope your weekend was lovely! It sounded like it. I haven’t read that May book and am honored to be connected to it…maybe I should gift it to myself for Christmas! (Books ever being my great weakness
      – yet also a source of strength). Thank you, Chris.

      Liked by 1 person

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