The gruel sky hangs dark and low.
I am cowed.
One vulnerable ribbon,
pulsing in the winds,
shines blue.
In that blue
a buzzard
luxuriates
on a winter thermal.
I can breathe, for now.
Story-scribbling, free-dancing, skip-dipping, pond-gazing, bowl-licking, paint-splatting, land-marveling, book-gorging, stone-whittling, fire-starting, moon-bathing soul-singing warrior mama.
this is beautiful. I love the image of the gruel sky contrasting with the ribbon of blue.
ReplyDeletethe gruel sky, a good description.
ReplyDeleteWe have goshawks here- their call cuts my heart and also lifts my soul
I know that moment of which you speak. If only one could bottle it and keep it in one's pocket, knowing that whenever it is needed, it is there.
ReplyDeleteIt's good to breathe. I'm remembering to find joy under unusual circumstances, and that it's okay for me to not be "on" all the time. I caught myself thinking that if I wasn't worrying, my life would stop. As if the world needed me to spin. Ha! I had a little vision of a buddhist teacher, gently laughing at me.
ReplyDeleteTake Care, Lunar. You're often in my thoughts.
Crystal
Thank you all.
ReplyDeleteMSB, I suspect it is always there, nestled in a pocket or tucked down a sock or bra. I'm trying to remember to reach for it - that's the tricky bit.
Crystal, I keep a lot of Buddhists in laughter and often tunnel out of fog by finding a chuckle at my own crazy notions of self-importance.