journey toward winter solstice, lost light, weak orb only wins in the morning, by early afternoon the disappearing begins, darkness, a time to hide, in a book, a bed, by a window looking at snowflakes falling, the white ground rising to meet wind and swaying pine trees, howling silence, nature’s portrait of death, the end of something, and now i understand january 1st, i used to always wonder, why not call september the beginning like in judaism? but i get it, the minutes added each day, climbing back into the sun, waiting for spring to heal the earth, but for now we rest.
Tag: Contemplation
By the Pool
sunken ground, watery
blue, it whirls
with summer sun
dug into the
dirt and rocks
pushed aside for
me to be
here surrounded by
ants and trees
bees and breeze
on my perch
like a dragonfly
watching the earth
Enduring 2020
introvert, he is one
quiet with his time
passing the days like
a sleeping couch dog
not to say he
doesn’t pay attention to
it all, the unraveling
of life in this
magical year of screens
and awful virus dreams
breathing is so much
of the hours, in silence
content and aware that
maybe there really is
nothing more important
Letter from Doris Grumbach
Doris Grumbach is perhaps my favorite memoirist of all time. She wrote me this letter when I was living in Palo Alto. She will be 102 years old this July 12th.
Accumulating Silence
if anybody asks
I tell them that each month
I add one minute of meditating
to my days, accumulating silence
like pennies in a jar
until the day I’m
speech less
spirit full
Daniel W. Polk 