The early sun breaks
through eastern clouds,
lighting the sea in a wind driven tide.
Trees begin their slow descent
to winter root, the forest quiet
in chill morning air.
I let go of the island,
of what I love above ground
for the season of goes within.
Sees Far says you strain vision
when you desire too much;
there is no poverty
in the root cellar of the soul.
Reading of “Descent to Winter Root” with music by Oregon
Sees Far sees clear. I descend into joy and ascend into root cellar of the soul — root and crown meet and blend. “Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink, I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. It’s thin current slides away, but eternity remains. I would drink deeper; fish in the sky, whose bottom is pebbly with stars.” Thoreau and I thank you Don. Your poems help weave the Silver Cord among and straight through the pebbly star ways.
Hello Don: I agree, we drop down to the bare earth cold and wet, but we live and we see forward just a little, for now that is OK. Thanks so much.
This poem perfectly reflects my need to accept the natural Rhythms and surrender to the need for winter and introspection. Beautifully done Don.
There is no poverty at the root of the soul!
Don, I know it is not your intention but the reference to “root cellar” makes me think of the Hill Street basement. No poverty there, plenty of abundance.
Thank you, Don, the summer harvest has been rich. All that was not eaten is stored in the root cellar of the soul. Rich sustenance for the quiet winter ahead. Last year I planted a tree in my front garden. When the leaves fell this autumn I was told to water the tree roots deeply to nourish and sustain the tree through winter. Sounded like good advice. I did so.
No, no poverty there… In fact, the density of nutrition lies there. Beautiful image. I meet you there, as snow covers over the green, the raised beds, the lavender, and tucks us in.