The world awakes
to headlights,
the sound of birds
and coffee makers.
In the dimly lit east
Venus holds her place
as the night sky fades.
I look from my window
through the bare branches
of the plum tree.
Just one of the heralds,
I call in the morning,
cranky with pain
and dull of thinking
yet like an old wolf I rise,
crane my head into the sounds
and smells of whatever stirs.
I see black winged crows,
hear the roar of a bus,
bless the pilgrims
on their morning journey
and announce myself
to the gods of the day
lest they forget I’m here.
Watching the dark dissolve
my old self drops away
into the web of root and rock
and I’m fed to the earth
for the flowers of spring.
So sad. Blessings that vanish into nothingness.
as i awaken each morning to the alarm clock at 4:20, ai prepare for the day and look out the window I think of that beauty soon to emerge as Spring awakens, then off to my 5AM job. The transition from darkness to light comes in my office window slowly. Then there is a bird, and a few people emerge ready to work, the day has begun
So beautiful!! Thank you Don!
Through pained knees, backs and all that hurts we welcome Spring with delight…….the earth, our home continues to flower and change. Thank you, Don for your loveliness!
For me this is profound and moving. This is a soul-poem, one that speaks for you in your beauty, your pain and your utter surrender. I’m privileged to share this moment with you.
Much love, my Friend.
I love the Old Wolf rising to meet the day amidst all the aches and pains..the recurring patterns and rhythms of the pilgrims… and the crows and even Spring… which has its own coming and going
And when there is a herald..it is impossible not to hear and to respond and to find the right place of alignment like the old wolf..
~ Amen Brother ~
Kettle on!
I love reading this and ALL of your poems out loud twice as recommended by Robert Bly. So healing to have you nourish my soul with your depth and grounded presence…❤️🙏🏽❤️
A fine poem Don, and with you I watch the dark dissolve, as “my old self drops away … and I’m fed to the earth” in the Cycles of Composting ever at work, bringing forth the fiery phases of renewal and flowering. And, as Rich says above, reading each of your poems aloud twice, or more, is a powerful way for me to feel the inherent rhythms of life and wisdom and intelligence incarnate in each poem. And as I do this I draw close to the rhythms of your own spirit and soul. Thank you Don.
I so love, and appreciate, how the ordinariness of life is your portal into the realms of mystery and delight, Don. Another reminder to be mindful of the myriad “heralds” that are eager to help guide us!