Dec 09 2006
Bird Hunting On The Bay
For those of us who grieve, it is sometimes surprising how that emotion of loss sneaks up on us when we least expect it. So it is that emotion I have tried to capture in the following poem. The slipper scuffs referred to belong to my wife of 39 years.
Bird Hunting On The Bay
Usually the silence at dawn
Is a special time for me to treasure
Peace, quiet – a tranquility of sorts.
But there are also times,
Impossible to anticipate,
When memories flood through
The gap of time as this morning -
When I hear most clearly her slippers scuff
The tile floor leading from the bedroom.
Instead of her footfall, beyond myself,
In counter-balance, the muffled shots of bird hunters
Sound on the bay beyond my home.
Impossible for me to anticipate
These occurrences that serve to
Enhance, attune life listening
To a level deep and joined within, and
I return to a region of the heart –
Where each breath is distinguished, as
My fingers seek to capture this moment
Before life activity and action once more
Gain momentum in the gathering light.
Might I argue that it is Now
We are refreshed, nourished, and recommitted
To our journey – but to where is the question?
