Meditations

Here are some loose scribblings that have been springing up from meditations.

7:10pm

Night sky, the blue of faded denim,
and the yellow haloed moon silhouettes
my black grandmother cedars
like a watercolor I once saw.
Lights in the kitchen shine on the walk.
I am home.

5:09am

Going back to sleep.
The dog is not moving from his bed.
My bedding is still warm and holds my shape.
Darkness is a cocoon rather than a nightmare.
My pillows cradle me.
I have an hour before I need to get up.

10:30am

Sadie, Teddy's friend, skinny as a fawn, wears sleek brown fur
with wiry goat fur growing in patches.
She was built for laughter, a mohawk of gray guard hairs, a beard,
great patches of fluff on her haunches.
"Needs a grooming," her people said.
"Don't!" I want to shout. She prances and hops the trail,
joy down to her toenails.
She is God's platypus, giraffe,
great horned owl looking over his left shoulder.
She is joy and laughter.
My Teddy, so sleek and beautiful,
should be so smart as to marry an ugly girl like Sadie.

5:50am

My back aches.
I'm a mess.
My shoulder aches, yet I feel the joy
of new shoots in the dirt,
buds holding back blooms, for now,
a boy who's nervous and excited for school.
They started archery yesterday in PE.
His teacher called him an expert
and asked him to demonstrate.
Three bulls-eyes later,
my boy came home telling me his story,
joy spilling out all over the carpet between us.
My boy has never had his heart broken.
The aches.
He will understand aches and pains and heartache
soon enough.

7:30pm

A three-quarter moon lit a walk with my husband. A lovely night.
February frogs peeped their friendly song, an owl hooted quietly.
Another answered.
My husband and I walked and murmured our week
passed and our week to come
and then we walked without chatter,
a tiny miracle that I could be so comfortable with anyone.
Despite a halo of clouds, there was enough light from the moon
for a slight shadow on the path.
It is that way for us sometimes,
enough light to see our outlines on the dim path ahead.
The dog, in his innocence, glowed white and I wondered
about moths and night white flowers.
I wondered about birds sleeping.
I wondered about elk lying in their great grass beds.
And I wondered if the mother bear would wake soon from her wild slumber
to find her cubs nestled beside her.
I wondered if they slept well enough in this warm winter,
if the cold deepens their slumber,
if they woke still sleepy.
I wondered of my son becoming a man
and the way seasons seem so short
and how close the shrouded moon felt
as it followed us on our path. 

Thank you for listening, jb