January 29, 2012 Sunday Whirl

Sunday Whirl

I open the book

The perfect grey feather

Found waiting

Morning quiet

Light penetrates my permeable

The only sound

The echo of the beat of my heart

Before me the field is open

The earth still frozen

My bare feet feel the cold

I am startled by the serenity

After the anguish

Shock of loss

A new day is born

The air fresh

A tiny flame burns in the hearth