Just Give Me A Heads Up

It occurs to me that the secret of being fully here, walking the skin of this planet, is to learn to see things as though I were looking at them for the first time, or the last. ~ Richard Wagamese, Embers: One Ojibway’s Meditations.

The sky’s light praise is led

by the bursting circle of moon

fullness, such silvery force

I peer to find her face,

a tacit desire to adore

the mother while nursing.

That precise entryway opens

my heart to move past

yesterday’s addictive pull.

Even so, I am startled

by sunrise over bare garden,

careful tendrils curling purple smoke

in anticipation of the task of burning

the horizon.  I am lost

to meditation, eyes open.

A symphony

of every shade in this palette,

dark green firs and brown hardwoods

the bare branches of the ghosts

of sycamore suddenly illuminated.

Light sings.

I hear it shift my being

from the sorry dispraise

of craven acts

to this vibrant

celebration

as pale fingers

pry open the night

crossing crimson brilliance.

The children are running

to the school bus lit

by sun kisses, this raw display

of passion.  Look up, I say

through the glass, bask.

This gift

of glorious day

significant, mystery-laden

spreading like the love

my tired spirit recognizes:

answers to my constant prayers

to receive what is already here.

Inspired by:  Dispraise, Tacit, Garden and Desire.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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