Life With Horace

poetry & essays


Leave a comment

night silence

in this aged house
the winter night
is many things,
but not deep quiet,
never utter stillness,
both conceits of
humans in retreat.
with us at rest,
it moves and breathes
in darkness,
sighing wood and stone,
the whine and snore of dogs,
feet twitching gently
as they dream,
small colonies of mice
sensed more than heard,
remnant memories
within its walls
merge with the energy
of word and color,
line and shape
collected and held close,
to make this much loved place.
and so I head for bed,
the last light gone,
leaving the plants looking out
at the night
to watch the snow fall


Leave a comment

speaking of gratitude

in early morning dark
approaching solstice,
thoughts clearing slowly,
a morning mist, awareness
spurs coherent thought
of thanks
for yet another day
to find myself alive,
no matter winter ice,
thoughts left over
and undone tasks,
certain that
joy will always rise
behind the pines
with the sun if asked,
serenity will be granted
if prayed for, even in
an unexpected form,
and now, prepared,
my soul is glad
to greet the sun

_______________________________
this morning’s freezing rain reminds me to be grateful nevertheless, a bit perverse I suppose. the roosting birds to the left are mourning/morning doves. 18 days to the solstice!