South the sun rises
on winter mornings,
slanted low in bright light
and pale orange.
Trees sleep in rooted beds,
the sky left to crows.
Putting down the cup of fear
I turn to the well within.
When the door is closed,
the window shut,
a path opens
through dark earth,
below the tangle of root
and hardpan clay
the water of life awaits.
photograph by Willard Walch
Reading of “Winter Well” with music by Art Pepper.
There is a wet snow falling where I be today. Stillness permeates the area, a definite call to the well of the soul.
Really sweet photo by Willard. I am attracted to the evocative title of this poem and the downward and upward motion of the soul’s movement.
Don, your appreciation for inner resilience makes sense. Thanks.
the answers often begin in the waters that nourish earth and my soul – beautiful Don
The inexorable progression of the seasons from dark to light is pure magic for the soul if we are attuned to its rhythm.
We are indeed all one, Don.
the skies left to crows… Lovely.
Very nice Don! Enjoyed the narrative with Art Pepper. Great photo too.
Best to you and Linda. Stay Safe… Arun
Marvelous image for this poem, Don. Combined with the music, I could imagine this coming straight from a movie in the forties!
the cup of fear, emptied, now has space for water from the living well
Gibran asks: Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?
I walk with you in rhythmic step to the source of the great river, and drink in thanksgiving and in love
for your gorgeous poem and this stunning photo thank you Don
The cup of fear is being promulgated widely; we can focus on the light!
Very nice, Don!
Thank you so much. I follow down, underneath, to those most fertile cold clear springs.