Cold comes the morning
with clouded skies and gray seas;
birds taking shelter
as winds increase,
night’s disturbance
spilling over into the day.
The earth healing
with wind and rain,
calling from sea depth
and high mountain
to bridge these times of chaos
left by the absent ones.
I struggle with fault lines,
finding my way
from the troubled shore,
cleaving to paths
of shattered stone
to where light rises,
finding rest in the heights
where eagles perch
and the broad sea opens.
Reading “Paths of Shattered Stone” with music by Sting
My beloved husband Jim died yesterday, Don, and finding your beautiful poem of hope and resilience was just the thing I needed this morning. Much love to you.
I was climbing that path with you as you spoke Don. I was reaching for root and stone up that path to rest in the light, feeling the wind from below, hearing the waves and birds. It’s good to be here together, breathing the air of light.
Don, we don’t know Maggie C. except through her message today. May your poem be the start of consolation from all points on the compass, and may Maggie’s husband rest in peace this Easter Sunday.
I took a second look at that image and realized it looked familiar!
One of your dark and moody edge of creation, life and death poems that you do so well. Love it!
The path of the shattered stones leads ever onward. Eventually, those on the path heal the way with the touch or their feet. Thanks for another thoughtful passage, Don.
Don, Very moving thoughts and imagery. Thank you.
Finding my way from the troubled shore….so true for me.
From the heights where eagles perch, the view is seen that all is well. I love your utterance!
So beautiful again, Don…where light rises… This is where we live, in those heights where eagles fly. Thank you.
each single word, each single step, unveils a Way through — apocalyptic Don!