Archive for the ‘Solitude’ Category

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 morning
Early
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 barking
It’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.

image

A Meditation Remnant

August 18, 2013

Occasionally, in my daily readings, a phrase or quote catches my eye and lodges itself in my thoughts for many days.

“No matter what happens, be gentle with yourself.” – St. Jeanne de Chantal