The quieter you become, the more you are able to hear. —Rumi
Morning
I rise far too early, don’t I.
Yet it is an act of love
this aloneness in the
dark, being able to empty
my spirit of noise, slipping into silent
meditation before the dewy
dawn catches in the cobwebby
grass, to wordweave away my hours.
*******
Late Afternoon
The last shaft of sunlight
pales on my pine floor
like a lingering goodbye
from beyond the window
where nothing is stirring
no breeze in winter-bare trees
no birds to be seen nor heard
in this earthtone moment
of prolonged silence
and stillness
time alone moves
it only ebbs
whether in seconds
or epochs
even in this moment
I can feel moss
growing by millimeters
on ancient rocks
caressed by golden fingers
of fading sunlight
I can almost hear
a song of gratitude
and I can’t tell
if it’s being sung by
the moss
the rocks
or the sun
only by something
which knows
time never flows
and that
soon, soon
it will be night
followed again
by morning light
Smiling face in moss. blondinrikard. CC BY 2.0
*******
with thanks to Ruth at SOS-Sharing Our Stories: Magic in a Blog for the inspiration with the Rumi quote and to C.S. Lewis, who wrote of rising “barbarously early” in the morning: “I love the empty, silent, dewy, cobwebby hours” (Letters to an American Lady).
lit bits and pieces 
So much to love here, Fran. The golden shovel is gorgeous. I love especially:
being able to empty
my spirit of noise, slipping into silent
meditation before the dewy
dawn catches in the cobwebby
grass,
Do you know about Irene Latham’s course offering and the explanatory webinar? I am going to take the course. You might want to look into it. There are some zoom meetings but I think the plan is for off line work with lots of supports in place.
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Thanks, Janet. I must follow up on Irene’s offerings!
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Fran, both poems are beautiful! I also like aloneness in the dark, but it’s after my husband goes to sleep and the cats are sleeping. When are girls were young, I also liked the aloneness after they went to sleep. I used to love peeking in on them seeing them sleeping with their cats. I wrote a poem once watching our youngest daughter, Heather sleep when she was two years old. Now, she’s 22. Thank you for helping me remember that memory.
Your second poem hooked me on your first line. I love all kinds of moss; I love to feel the softness and compare the different greens of mosses, plants, and other small trees in light and shadows when I’m in the woods. I especially love these lines of personification “caressed by golden fingers of fading sunlight”, “if it’s being sung by the moss the rocks or the sun. Your words painted beautiful images. Your blog was just what I needed-a walk in the woods-which is my happy place. We didn’t get out in the woods cross country skiing this weekend. We need more snow. I will walk in the woods this week. Thank you for sharing your poems, your quiet, peace, joy, and inspiration. 🙂
Can I please put your poems in my notebook to use as mentor poems to help me write better? I will add a copywrite sign near your name.
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Dear Gail- your words and warm heart always brighten my day. Certainly you may put the poems in your notebook. It gives me joy to know they have value. I am a person who often craves quiet; I suppose to hear my own thoughts without having them and my nerves jangled by the constant noise of this world. Nature sounds are quite different, though – they impart peace. I don’t know exactly why that moss-covered rock came to mind as I absorbed the afternoon quiet – it was a sense, an image, I needed to capture. Deepest thanks to you-
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……wordweaving away my hours…….
When I finally in my life many years ago realized that ceaseless prayer was prayer that continues throughout the day like a constant conversation that we come back to again and again instead of quitting our jobs and never leaving the house to stay on our knees at home, I realized that it is the interwovenness of talking to God all day, all night, in a returning fashion……
and so it is with wordweaving. I think I do that, too. I find myself hearing something and stopping, Playing with the sounds, breaking the words apart, thinking on it, reflecting, and then finishing what I was doing. Wordweaving. You make me think, Fran, as always……
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You have captured my own sense of prayer, Kim – an ongoing flow, not always needing words, just the connectedness. Wordweaving for me is like that, too – a constant state of composition. Senses, ideas, sounds mingle with words, flowing in and out.
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Your wordweaving fills me with wonder! Thanks for your poems.
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Both poems are beautiful, but I especially love “Morning” as it captures so much of what I feel in my own early rising!
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