Taking a brief break from my prose blog series, here is a new poem.
Late summer,
where here
in northern California
the sky dawns overcast
almost every day;
where the fog burns off
and the sun emerges
by 11 AM;
where the weather
is perfect, breezy,
not hot, very dry -
there is a poignancy
to these drifting days.
Each arises from its night
so slightly sooner,
the change is
barely perceptible.
I don’t know
if it is boring or grace,
these doldrums,
these suspended days
when the repeating pattern
feels endless and timeless,
and yet,
and yet,
we know for sure
that the changes
of time and times
are coming.
It is important now
to breathe fully, not
to hold the breath.
What will come
will come –
winter, troubles,
beauty, blessings.
The doldrum days are
no curse; they are
a space in which
to open.
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