I disturbed the geese
apart from their flock,
standing in purple camas,
complaining in goose talk.
With the geese gone
alone now except for swifts
and the calm water of slack tide,
the first breeze with the sun
lightly stroking the water
as the green world rises
in the fullness of spring.
I’m guest at this feast,
tasting the beauty of the beloved,
feeling my way like the searching tide
into the clefts of the stone shore,
finding my place at the table,
thankful to be alive.
Beautiful.
reminds me of ocean sailing….the excitement of the first light breeze announcing conclusion of 4 days becalming, including one day’s journal entry of drifting backwards–a no-gainer! Haven’t we all experienced a day of backward drift in our lives?
Finding our place at the table…and we all have a place!
Ah yes… always thankful to be alive. Bless you, Don. LU Snowy
We’re all guests at this feast. Perhaps the miracle is that we still have a place at the table, in spite of everything.
Yes, and the feast is glorious and I could not take it for granted. Thank you for pointing to the generous nature of the Beloved!
Most beautiful Don – the table is vast, plenty of room for all; the feast is an ongoing miracle, blessing and thanksgiving, feeding the multitude – like your poems, exuberant and overflowing.