Poetry 'n Prose

This Stirring

This stirring,
a forest touched by the lowly sun
yet dazzled by such colour

Reflected in a thousand whispers,
before a slowing dance
to winter’s beat

So many voices dreaming in silence,
Wild birds have flown,
the fields lay empty

River winding on
into infinity.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

11 replies on “This Stirring”

i could feel a Winter’s day with the sun slipping behind the horizon…
Beautiful Lee….
Take Care…You Matter…

There is a sense that I am yearning, and reaching out for the new spring to arrive and underfoot is stirring already. It catches me in the moment. I sense you have these moments too?

I love the Winter…it seems to slow down thoughts as well as the energy around me…
but I always have one step in the next season…my word for the year is experience
and I have slowed down to experience that underfoot stirring you are talking about…I go barefoot every morning no matter how cold…its like it refreshes my soul …
Hope all is well in your part of the woods Lee…
Take Care…You Matter…

It’s been a penetrating cold. Cold and yet strangely invigorating. I especially felt it today as I stood on the side lines and watched my son play Rugby. He didn’t seem to care about the cold.

It feels we are close in seasons here, in the woods that harks for spring. Still, we lay down in the snow and surrender to the winter that is upon us, within us and teaches us to let go.

And by the cold hand we feel rooted in the earth. And in Her infinite beauty we trust…

Emily Dickinson, the American poet, once wrote,

Nature is a haunted house, but art is a house that tries to be haunted.
Nature, she said,
Is what we see, Nature is what we know
But have no art to say –
So impatient our wisdom is,
To her simplicity.

I like that piece by Emily Dickinson…it has been years since I read any of her words
maybe I should revisit…

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