early autumn walk

now the jasmine’s done,
the Russian sage stands
taller, though leggy
in the September sun
and I begin to look
for purple bursts of
asters on my walks

here and there,
the anemones still bloom,
though half-droop as if
weary of the effort
to shine beside their
hardier counterparts

soon the crows will
gather in the beech tree
in raucous reunion –
a return to their winter
roost-mates and safety
in dark numbers

and I find comfort
in the crunch of leaves
the fires dripped
by trees for me to
ponder through, always
the words blooming
and roosting raucously
in my wandering head

© Sarah Whiteley

The first (and the absolute worst) of the work deadlines is past and I’ve somehow again managed to muddle through it. Tired, ruffled, feeling very behind on writing and reading, but alive all the same – and that is enough for now to be thankful for. Looking forward to a weekend of relaxing and catching up on the dusting before things pick up for the second work deadline. And I’ve got LOTS of reading to catch up on!

Advertisements

spring walk, 6 a.m.

this is the moment
when I am unearthed,
when I am at last unbound
by mundane constraints –

now, when the birds
at their riotous best,
launch their relief that yes,
day again brings light

in a canon shared by wrens
and robins and flitting juncos
from trees whose slow buds
are indecently near to bursting

now, when the still low sun
lifts slowly above the hill,
when light is burnished pink
and leaf-filtered

here I am both more and less
myself than at any other moment
and piercingly in love
with every greening tree

© Sarah Whiteley

the dangers of stargazing

this morning,
before morning really,
before the light had begun
to line the eastern sky,
I walked – feet testing
the crispness of those
first fallen leaves
(someone must, after all,
be the first to fall)
while Orion hung
so impossibly bright,
so brilliant even from beneath
the glare of the streetlight,
that I had to (truly had to)
walk along with head tilted back
ridiculously celestially absorbed
in that darned belt
everyone’s always pointing out
why? I was just wondering,
does no one point out the bow
so perfectly poised
that any arrow loosed
would pierce the heaving flesh
of the great bull before him?

when I wandered face-first
into the very earthy wonder
of a spider web
take heed, my friend –
there are dangers even
in stargazing

© Sarah Whiteley

I absolutely did do this rather recently and after I’d pulled the spider web off my face, couldn’t help but laugh at myself and wonder if this was the Universe’s ever-so-subtle way of reminding me to find ways to be more grounded.