Thursday, August 28, 2014

At the edge of being

Gray morning:
dew sparkles on the gazebo, and dances on the trees
whose dark stalwart reflections in the stillness of the pond
calm and soothe the anxious heart.
Somewhere nearby a cat is dying,
a car has broken down,
a child is mourning the end of summer.
Somewhere further away
a young man holding a gun
has lost sight of his humanity.
And still the grass glows green in the morning light
and cattails breath their softness
into the edge of being.

1 comment:

Cheryl said...

This speaks to me of allowing, rather than clinging or resisting. There is so much tenderness.