Bright star, he

In my night there lives a man who is the sun burning the mist from my morning slumber

In unfocused half-wakefulness I see him truly and listen for the melody that is his and his alone bending my soul towards his

I hear

he

is the rain gently falling on parched grass the mist that gathers at evenings end and his spirit soars with the bird-flock who arch upwards into the clouds wings outstretched he

Carpets my world in green and puts the blue in the sea dolphins dance and the silent songs of mornings are his songs

he is the fish that leaps joyfully breaking the surface of the still, deep pond rippling outwards and he is the shy deer that stands at the edge of the forest at sunset

music moves with him drawing the world somehow nearer to listen to the melodies of his soul-song

he is the bright star of my morning travel ever north, compass point home. All that is good follows him softly for his way is not brash but gently his artistry shines

the silken webs of spiders creating beauty holding the beaded shining morning dew his is the bird song lilting up to the clear blue sky

He is himself and inside his soul-light

beautiful

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Night

I am enveloped in the night in the snow flying towards me like bullets the road stretches out in front of me a tunnel through the dark

I see only as far as the light from the headlights and catch glimpses of deer or foxes

in my mind I know the road goes farther on than I will go and that soon the sun will rise and the day will be full of possibility but

For now it is me the warmth of the cab, the night and the snow

I am content

winter’s night

or there is the darkness now
fallen
and peace
the still cold crystallizes sound and movement
the lights of man are dimmed;
when I look out into the night sky and the
velvet blanket white covering below it seems
a million stars have fallen out of the inky black
into celestial white
and have not died but
sing glory into the night as she
glides onward, her train of stars following

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