Friday, 15 January 2010
Each day I climb my hill to meander through a wood of oak
but I cannot see much below me on this grey December morning.
All is shrouded in silver and even I am lost in meditation,
dry-wrapped in a white and frost-ridden silence
which seems holy and most soothing
for it dulls the senses and muffles tears
with a sound that is something like Peace.
Its soft blanket of comfort embraces and protects me,
over and over till I am warm and safe again,
snug in its womb-like cocoon.
It is starting to clear now and
I believe that with its inevitable lifting
will come a dissipation and true inspiration,
a different view of things
and warm, warm sunshine.