Warm, cold, golden-green leaves and bright yellow goldenrod fill the field. Purple asters bloom near the roadside. The last hurrah happens in the garden– plenty of kale and the squash is setting. In the background, I hear Moss Brook run and splash, filled by recent rains. This poem set at Moss Brook was published last week by Crossways Journal, where more interesting things are also published. https://crosswayslit.com/348-2/
Breath by Breath
Is it wrong to avoid thinking,
listening to Moss Brook slosh over stones?
To notice the black crickets dart between
blades of dry grass and goldenrod,
time tellers of the changing season?
I wanted only to remember Jenny
as she sat on the largest rock midstream,
legs tucked, reading a book,
as the brook rushed by.
And now I learn to meditate, to take
one breath at a time, to notice
my ribs rise and fall, to notice the air
fill me, leave, time and time again.
Some say the only moment is now,
all is illusory, breathe through pain.
There is some comfort in this
moment by moment, breath by breath.
I’ll be taking us all on a painting holiday to Taos Ne Mexico very soon. Stay tuned!