Gray and mute.
There is no cadence in the wind,
As if numbed by the winter forest.
There is a stench of sorrow
Shrouding all safe exits.
Even the tide is holding its breath.
Then, a blossoming of light,
Soft violet and blush,
Splitting the ocean in a glittering trail
Of rose gold and silver.
The echoing cry of seabirds,
And feathers shivering
In the eddies of the wind.
As the sun is lifted
By foreign hands
Swell on the quiet land
And as that pregnant orb
Releases its burden
unto fields and sea
A murmur of prayerful
That life will never
Seize to be.
Yesterday when I was having my morning coffee while watching the sunrise, this beautiful dragonfly came to visit. It perched right on the house wall with the reflection of the rising sun in the rice paddies as a backdrop, so I had to capture this magical moment on camera!
This is what I woke up to at 5.30 A.M today. And I mean that quite literally because the whole outward facing wall in my bedroom is made up of glass. I love when the rice paddies get completely flooded with water so that they can work as a mirror for the rising sun.
A balm for the soul. 💖☀️💖😊
The morning air has been
whipped into frost to mend the
Barrenness of broken paths,
Sunned to death by the sum of
Our loveless days.
Reaching branches, sketched by
Dawn, break black and rise out of that
White and gray sea
Where farmers gather rivers
into veins to thin out
The morning air is laced with coriander.
Thick white fog creeps up my bare arms,
The wet cold licks make me shiver
Despite the spring heat.
Crows whine on the rooftops,
Shedding black feathers as they scavenge
There is a sense of expectation in the air,
As if the fog has veiled something,
A truth that is waiting to show itself
As soon as the remains of winter lift.