Last Call of the Night Watchman
Sundog (also parhelion), the appearance of bright spots of light on either side of the sun |
Morning bounds out of the black shade... all but taps me on the shoulder... Hey, lady! Big round yellow circle here! I watch it with my back. I like to see what it does more than how it looks. The universe calls out importantly Born again! You there! Her! Him! Everything’s new and everyone has do-overs or at the very least another chance to get it right. All’s well. Night was blasted prettily; it’s skittered off to lick its wounds. A light breeze makes
teasing eddies on a small lake prodding
it awake and petulant it slaps the shore
not fully lucid yet, its lazy waves
like fingers tipped with jewels
It’s not a subtle thing, this exotic transformation, but it’s gotten ordinary to us: night day dark light, a hushed percussion that doesn’t skip a beat but marches evenly, troops on through the seasons year by year. My father never missed a day of work but knew the miracle
of dawn. He was both earth and sky and
then the time came when he couldn’t soldier
on and went where I can’t find him. Ever
since, I’ve felt a bit at sea... adrift like
the small child lost in the department store.
Daddy always found me then. But when he went
away for good, when I waited gripping a stranger’s
hand and he didn’t return, I knew that daylight
wouldn’t be a sure thing any more. The
drum had stopped. I couldn't hear the
marching now
Hidden Lake, Glacier National Park, Montana |
I must have slept. How is it that the early sunlight whispers on my neck?... another chance to get it right I guess. I can’t see the lake from here; I know it’s nearby where it’s always been, the lissome willows with their graceful branches
dangling at its edge; if I were fanciful, perhaps I'd wonder if they laugh to hear it mutter and complain and watch it stumble into wakefulness... and languidly it
swats with jeweled fingertips at merry
breezes; the rhythm settles and becomes
familiar, and I am at ease
All images: vnwallpapers |
for Susan A. Akey Adams, loving, steadying, and loyal friend for 55(?) years... celebrating her birth anniversary (?), celebrating her very existence here with us on the planet!
ReplyDeleteYour imagery is beautiful! Thank you! I am so grateful for our forever friendship!
ReplyDeleteLove,
Akey
Allow me to join the cheering throng of rickety yet sprightly and brilliant beings privileged to call you Friend. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
ReplyDelete