Category: Morning Meander

I walk the dogs and write raw poetry. Won’t you join me?

Hermitage Time – losing track of the need to count days

The wind out there is absolutely gorgeous — it is rich with scent and humidity and depth and it makes the trees rumble like very small thunder.

I want to be in that other place today. In fact I want to be there every time that the wind makes this noise. The ache of being somewhere else instead is…

Big. Deep. Everywhere. Relentless.

It started when three rivers converged to create a raging torrent of grief and loss. It was my own annus horrible, and I am still — only sometimes — feeling the effects.

It’s further away now. Further but not gone, and when the wind is like this, the pain is fresh and the howl of my daughter’s anguish is carried back freshly to my ears.

So I go out and stand in the wind. I would not lose these memories or this experience for all the safety and comfort in the world.

Hermitage Time – Dark of the Moon

There will be some spirit writing tonight, yes indeed,
and the fun thing is there’s no telling who will take up the pen.

Dark of the moon, the deep, silent breath
The beginning without knowing of what

The Fool’s step,
the initiate’s step,
the white fox’s step, soft and sure, into a world which may or may not be ready.

Soft and sure, that’s it.
Gently now.
Nicely, Ensign.
That will do.

Back tall,
shoulders wide,
remind them of being queens themselves,
knights,
whatever they are in their secret hearts.

Part myself
and part the stories of others.
That’s as should be.
Neither diminishes its supplement.

Love does not divide,
it multiplies.

I can be wholly myself, now,
and still honor all the selves I once was
and shall be,
and if you will let me, I can be Storykeeper for you, as well,
by my own soft and certain step
reminding you of your own.

Hermitage Time – Day Six

Thrown off my rhythm,
so important to me,
must find my voice for speaking my gentle truth
and being queen of how my day is going to go.

To be clear, the gorgeous summer out here with the amazing fresh breezes and perfect shade of blue? It is indeed how I want my day to go, but I can’t actually take credit for that part.

Hermitage Time – Day Five

It’s hard to fit all the Nothing into each day!
But it sure is fun to try.

Someone gave me a tip yesterday, we argued over whether that was appropriate, but I let her win.
What do I even do with that now?
With cash?
I think that I’m going to put each bill into a different pocket of a different thing — blue jeans, winter coat, summer purse — to be found with delight three different times.

Also, the ice cream cone place only takes cash.

Hermitage Time – Day Three

The Summer Triangle is setting.

Five in the morning and I can see the stars;
five in the morning and the Summer Triangle is setting.

I do not wish to move on from summer, but I’m not fighting it as I usually do.
There are things to do.

The small mania of the first day of term has passed, but even so it was a summer day, and therefore holy.

Wholly holy, this moment in this between-time as they all are.

Hermitage Time

We begin
with ablutions and devotions
and it turns out that the whole day is devotions,
both the cleaning and the stillness.

The silence is complete in the “now I can hear all the meadow noises” sense
and the space is expansive
and choosing to do each thing feels like an act of power and authority.

Caring for my home,
caring for my own spirit,
caring for the dogs.

Blessing this tiny piece of world called myself.

Course design

If I follow this morning’s fancy, I shall title each unit like the chapters of Three Men In A Boat:

In which Hens may be Good Layers, yet they neither prevaricate nor recline.

The Comma in its Guise as Harmless.

Abaft, Abeam, Athwart: Useful Prepositions for the Edification of Young Midshipmates.

The Comma Revealed In Its Despotic Cruelty.

Not To Mention The Dog.