Meditation

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 renewal,

a different view of things

and warm, warm sunshine.



©Cait O’Connor