Fog settles on the valley
as autumn fades,
leaves turn and fall
in the time of letting go.
I sit warm by the fire,
at peace in the change
like an old monk
preferring the calm,
the descent into root.
The world calls this empty,
the slow slip into darkness,
yet here in the quiet morning
soft light etches the fog
and the well of life flows full
behind the gate of silence.
Don, lovely poem but that will be the day when you are “like an old monk”.
Your poem speaks loudly of peace, a necessary peace, so that we can move swiftly out into the world to deliver that peace.
It is “a time of letting go” for so many of us.
Thank you for your clear articulation, yet again,
of what is moving right now.
Muchas gracias!
Don…the well of life indeed flows full in these days…….
and from within the womb of silence, the sound, of your words