February 25, 2012

A morning in transition, gray and getting grayer . . . After yesterday's wind, it's so still this morning not a leaf is twitching.  It has that breathless awarness that is poised at the moment between two states.  I hear an owl still up, and the cat is rummaging through the leaves at the feet of the cane.  Without the wind chime chorus, it seems very silent this morning.  A couple of women running in rumpled track suits, round the corner, followed by a large brown dog, its tongue lolling out and what looks like a grin on its face.  It stops to sniff around then lopes off to catch up.  A small stripe of red sun is slowly appearing through the trees.  Red sun in the morning . . . a change in the weather.

Morning

morning;

in my bowl

green light.

sky burns

turns through

blue silence.

every real sound

falls

on open ears.

i go down now

to the sea

without doubts.

Stef Pixnar 

Well, this morning in the bowl is only gray light, but the sky is burning at the horizon, a fire the trees can live with.  And the silence is now breached by a sudden gust of wind, and the far off sleepy who of that owl.  I don't know about the sea, but I can't even go down to the bay without doubts, which are like questions, not to be given up lightly.  Once you have complete certainty you forget to grow.  Perhaps the poet meant the sea has no doubts, which I can believe in.  The sea with its change, still probably never doubts the shore, or the depths of its reach, only the weather above it, stirring things up.   This morning it looks like change and a lot of stirring up might be happening.  We all wait, accepting weather like nothing else, with no control over it only stray prediction, we learn that acceptance, and make do with it. 

Whatever the weather you have today, you can find a cozy spot and watch it come.  When it arrives, welcome it, another day to live in the world, change we accept, and move through, adapting to whatever it brings.