I wonder at the stillness here --
a gift, perhaps,
to quiet my churning spirit;
or curse, still blessed,
to draw my soul home again.
I embrace the late dawning here --
no planned alarm,
my love is still abed at eight;
and even I,
did catch an extra wink or two.
I wallow in green hush doldrums --
and gravel roads of tactile crunch;
old stone paths,
reveal flume fed ponds and waterwheels.
There’re many who would walk ahead --
with chosen mate,
blindly following behind a
a duty pace,
while for me ‘tis a quested calling.
It is for this I am trained
in found stillness,
guarding point in search of stumble;
that she might reach
out with senses beyond my ken.
For her the sun is always late --
dark clouding mist,
which allows more knowledge of moon;
love’s hid powers,
that reach ‘cross the room in laughter.
Yet, this stay is but a wrinkle --
a hole in time,
and we must return to the land
of quick busy-do,
and the work the Goddess gave us.
It came in a soul-blink of now --
that we do not
dare linger here in such stillness;
a world apart,
for there are no birds singing here...
nor cats curled at our feet,
not the quiet whispers of Tegsh,
nor the home built
with heart and hand,