Posts Tagged ‘Solitude’

A New Day

October 4, 2017

Gilt by a setting sun
Trees
Golden
Across the lake
On the shore
A window on an unseen cabin
Angled just right
Ablaze with reflected light

This side, this shore
Could seem gloomy here in the woods
At the foot of the hill
No sunlight on grass or leaves
But tomorrow’s coolness of morning
Fresh sparkle of sun’s rising
Brings a new day
A new beginning

©2017 Thomas W. Cummins

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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

Morning Shadows

May 21, 2015

IMG_0064

This morning as I came down the stairs, the rising sun was casting shadows on the wall and closet door after passing through the lace curtain, past the dracaena marginata, and the stair rail. Leaves from outdoors were dancing amidst the lacy and muted pattern.

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

More Music, Less Politics.

March 19, 2012

Here it is beyond mid-March, and my New Year’s resolution seems to be holding: More Music, Less Politics.

It has to do with my desire for inner peace, really. I had found upon several occasions over the past few years that I was in a different state at the end of days when I had the radio tuned to classical music rather than any of my favorite political talk or news shows.

Politics, the state of our economy, the country’s divisiveness and polarization exacerbated by the 9/11 crisis, and a host of other issues tend to unsettle my awareness and enjoyment of the present moment. It’s the things I can’t do anything about, the things over which I have little influence over the short run, that cause unnecessary and meaningless aggravation.

So now my days begin differently. For the past fifteen years, I would get up at 4:50 a.m. in order to wash my face, brush my teeth and get down to the kitchen in time for the 5:00 news. The radio would remain on until breakfast was complete, the dishwasher unloaded, and the newspaper retrieved.

After the newspaper was consumed, my quite time – candle and all – would begin at 6:45 and run until 7:30. Any of the day’s driving around, trips to the prison, or working in my office, would be accompanied by whatever non-music stations I could find. Needless to say, many political websites are also bookmarked on my desktop PC and my laptop.

Now when I get up at 4:50, I get to the kitchen when I get there, the radio stays off, and the rest of the routine proceeds in silence until 7:30.

If it’s a prison day, my 90 minute morning drive is accompanied by music or nothing. I had gotten in the habit of listening to the P.O.T.U.S. channel on XM radio or the Diane Rehm show on NPR.

On the way home from the prison in the afternoon, I will listen to a variety of news, opinion, and talk shows. I do want to stay current while avoiding a day-long saturation or total immersion. I admit to listening to biased programs as long as guests present opposing points of view, but I completely avoid the shrill extremes of either political party.

This morning on the way to the prison I was loading a variety of CDs onto the car’s hard disk drive but not listening to much of it. Instead, I decided to have the car be quiet and direct my attention to the red bud trees all over the Ozark countryside.  It was a peaceful ride, filled with reflection and preparation for my visits with the offenders in solitary. With my previous practice, the beauty of our early spring would have gone unnoticed.

Without knowing the reason or, perhaps, not noticing any difference, the men in solitary confinement experience a different “me” than they would otherwise. Most aren’t interested in politics anyway, and my being pretty up-to-date on the NCAA basketball tournament proved to be more useful.

As I write this, the entire evening has been without radio, TV, stereo, or internet music. It’s quite nice.