Archive for the ‘Solitude’ Category
A New Day
October 4, 2017Gilt by a setting sun
This side, this shore
A North-woods Walk
October 1, 2015—∞—
If only words could let me share
But what can they do?
Re-imagining a morning walk
On an hilly dirt road
Through the woods
Past driveways leading down to the lake
To hidden cabins
Early morning rising sun
Leaves bursting with color
Light flirting with shadows among the trees
Aspens shimmering in an unnoticed breeze
It was very cool, if not cold
Hands taking turns
Between pocket and hiking stick
A deer’s follow-me white flag
Bounding, bounding, bounding … gone
At the bottom of a hill
A pair of ducks exploding from a small pond
Little flocks of tiny birds
Gathering something for breakfast
Amidst the weeds and lingering wildflowers
Unnoticed before
The breeze has picked up
And plays with the holes in my walking stick
A horrible flute
Producing a tone that is simply beautiful
Appearing then vanishing
With the rhythm of my gait
An hour later
Back at the cabin
Warm
Invigorated
Sitting by the window
Steaming cup of coffee
Sparking lake beyond the sheltering glass
© 2015 Thomas W. Cummins
Storm Remnants
October 4, 2014
—∞—
Like old crones
In tattered dark gray cloaks
Last night’s storm clouds
Shuffle off to the east
Hiding the rising sun
They prolong their gloomy pall
Leaving behind sodden leaves
Plastered against windows
Overlooking the slate-hued lake
Dancing Rose-Gold
July 29, 2014—∞—
Each morningEarly
As though awakening
The lake
Comes alive An opening movement
Two ducks
In formation
Quietly chatting
Whisk by just above the water A single gull appears
Overhead
Looking, searching
Its wings
Pink with the rising sun Far off
A loon begins its day
Black-green head
Sharp, wet bill
Glistening On the bunkhouse wall
A dance
Rose-gold reflection
Sun grazing the water
Finding its way into the room A noiseless waltz
Sometimes partnered
Leaf shadows
Gentle
In a morning breeze
© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins
Beckoning Call
May 26, 2014—∞—
A dog is barkingIt’s late
That distant sound
Pulling
Tugging
At a loose thread
A fragment
Of memory Memory of what?
I’m not certain
Was it in a play
On some long-ago stage?
A movie?
Or heard from the window sill
Of my childhood bedroom
On a hot summer night? Hearing that faraway call
Pulls at me
Each time
Every time
What is the meaning? Why am I drawn?
Perhaps it’s because
It always beckons from beyond the current situation
From beyond myself
© 2014 Thomas W. Cummins
Thoughts swirling high above politics
September 30, 2013—∞—
My T-shirt for today put me in a reflective mood.
In a dim light... 
You must be logged in to post a comment.