The first birdsong breaks the call of night
freeing me from the churning of its depths,
gratefully released from the tumult of waiting
for the day
to break.
Night already having broken itself
upon me.
Taking me, despite its starry silence,
into the noise of pain past
pain future.
No thunder marked these heaving internal crests, but I was
struck
all the same by the rumbling.
The day before, though punctuated by long sought, abiding gratifications,
was one of those that had to be put out of its misery - destruction hard to bear.
on the tail of several seasons that have each and every triggered
in the midst of years of societal growing pains.
We make do
and we do make
and it is done.
Life goes on
with or without us
I go on
with Life
all of it - creation will take its turn.
