Upon Awakening

21 May

Skies that pour all day with tears, from God’s grey hollow till it clears, for just a second, short & then, it starts to rain & rain again, The pine & fir forest’s muddy floor, the mountain’s rising rocky door, The seas of teal & jade that spill to frigid shores when winters kill. I’m one of many northwest winds, blowing blessings, expiring sins, a son of silky skies that pour, the misty blood I’ve bled before –27 June, 2011, Bellingham, Washington

I break from sleeping stillness like amber candle light from darkness, as the Rainman lets last drops in night’s shade sprinkle sparsely to tree branches and hang on, hang on, then let loose, dropping eventually like jumpers to death. I’m shedding bits and pieces of myself by the second as late spring leaves turn down with water leaking to the brown fallen duff, shooting around in twirls of gusts, littering the base of softly lighted tall trunks I see from the opened windows of my room.

Clicking go the sounds of breaking twigs and picking birds. Early summer rain fancies no particular tree, giving equal ratios of wetness to nature’s symphony of being born and dying. This is Bellingham, Washington, not my place of birth, but my hometown, to which I’ve returned to reckon with endings in myself, and to begin the next long leg of a new journey. On this day it’s a place of sought rebirth. Where better to begin than the home of Mother? Though, sadly, she’s away in China. I’ll do this dance alone.


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