golden hour of the clock of the year

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

and now it’s October
the golden hour of the clock of the year. Everything that can run
to fruit has already done so: round apples, oval plums, bottom-heavy
pears, black walnuts and hickory nuts annealed in their shells,
the woodchuck with his overcoat of fat. Flowers that were once bright
as a box of crayons are now seed heads and thistle down. All the feathery
grasses shine in the slanted light. It’s time to bring in the lawn chairs
and wind chimes, time to draw the drapes against the wind, time to hunker
down. Summer’s fruits are preserved in syrup, but nothing can stopper time.
No way to seal it in wax or amber; it slides though our hands like a rope
of silk. At night, the moon’s restless searchlight sweeps across the sky.

 

~ Barbara Crooker

 

 

 

 

 

 

waking up

 

 

 

 

 

 

“It takes only a moment to breathe, 
a moment to be still, and just like that,
 something in me settles, softens,
 makes space for imperfection.
 The harsh voice of judgement 
drops to a whisper and 
I remember again 
that life isn’t a relay race,
 that we will all cross the finish line, 
that waking up to life 
is what we were born for.  
As many times as I forget, 
catch myself charging forward
 without even knowing where I’m going, 
that many times I can make the choice 
to stop, to breathe, and be,
 and walk slowly into the mystery”.

 

~ Danna Faulds