*

listening to the day’s
wakening heartbeat,
the unseen thrush
trilling in the still-dark
before the January dawn,
I can almost sense you
turn in your sleep –
and this is my survival:
even in the act of leaving
I am always coming home

© Sarah Whiteley

In one more short month, I’ll be heading (again) into lengthy workdays and ungodly hours. Somehow the thought of it is even more difficult this time around knowing there’s a warm and wonderful soul waiting for me at home. And yet… there’s a warm and wonderful soul waiting for me at home! How lucky am I?

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “*

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s