early morningice falling in my whitened garden
discloses a chiming tune
a small coin of sunlight
clear and cold on my window
proclaims this great turning
fluffing up in unison
flocks of doves on the roof lines
breathe in and out with me
(Me)
The day begins in the hours before dawn and with all the usual rites and observances: a pot of fair trade coffee cranked up, draperies thrown open, the usual morning meditations. A while later, I stand at the counter with coffee in hand and look through the window, up and out to where a rising quarter moon is dancing in the clear blue ocean of the sky. Life is good this morning, but it is cold, and there is still so much snow on the ground. Here we stand at the cusp of March and April, and springtime seems a very long distance off.
There are however boons and gifts and blessings at such liminal times if one is patient and observant: the chance sighting of a peregrine falcon in the park, the music of local streams flowing along merrily underneath their mantle of ice, the happy news (yesterday) that the first Great Blue Heron of the season has been sighted at a friend's farm pond in the Lanark Highlands.
The trick is plunk one's self down squarely (or roundly) in these threshold moments and become one with them, to taste them fully and take each one as a gift, cold or no. This morning as I sat in the early sunlight, just breathing and out with my eyes closed, the whole magnificent universe seemed to be breathing in and out with me.
1 comment:
Great images, both photographic and verbal. I have a window in my living room, 2x5 and high on the wall. I call it my weather window because all I can see is sky and cedar branches waving in the wind. Tomorrow morning I'll breathe in and out as I watch, and imagine being part of the whole world.
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