my dog tells me
that she is dying –
subtly, as dogs do
that this is the first
of our many lasts
that we should
go slowly now
and savor this truth,
this pained heart,
with worthy tenderness
I owe her as much,
and everything else
at least once more
we take the first
of our last walks
between the light and
lengthening shadows
wheeling toward
the end of the year
good girl!
there is no finer promise
than the uncertain light
which finds you
from between the blinds
and casts you
in bewitching blue –
a hue into which my hands
are driven to dive –
pulling the pearl
from the shadow
© Sarah Whiteley
brown drifts of coffee grounds,
and the tappings of the black-capped chickadee
finding rhythm with the tick-ticking
of spring rain on new-green locust leaves
the passing hours mold the morning
into the firmer lines of day,
tracing the flights of fugitive birds –
red hawk, wren, house finch, crow,
ubiquitous dust-winged sparrow
shadows lazily skate and shift,
thumbing plants and spines of books,
shelves graced with inconsequential treasures –
of feather, stone, and sloping shell
the peonies on the window,
barely beyond their prime,
settle into fading brilliance
with unabashed aplomb
and if it might seem I forget you
amidst this gentle roster –
you’re the one, though absent,
who gives the hours their reason
and this simple room, its light
© Sarah Whiteley
it is a relief to not be raveled –
but rather to be finely woven
like a sweet grass basket,
or pale roots that reach deep
into the comforts of soil and loam
in equal parts flourish and succor,
I have discovered in us a landscape –
an expanse of trust and generous sky
and things between are not a tug-of-war –
darkness versus the light –
but rather quiet observations
on how sunlight coaxes shadows
into long, delightful things
© Sarah Whiteley
Four more days, and all the work craziness will finally be behind me. It will be a relief to be done and a blessing to once more have the time to actually focus on writing and reading. Be well, my friends – I’ll see you soon!
ebbtide 