She Seems Unaware

She seems unaware of the bleeding, but

at times her eyes glaze; I think

she's moving away, starting

not to be here.

Further details

One Cloud Settles

One cloud settles softly

on the tops of the trees.

The sky shines blue,

the winter sun
hints of hope, of returning Spring.

Guardian Stone

I dressed the rock by my door

in thin blue lines, in symbols

of Protection and the Goddess.

The original marks, from another hand,

were painted thick, though wearing off.

I wonder should I make mine thicker?

Not yet, says the rock. Let me explore

these more delicate emblems. Power

may also rest in the soft and fine.

Embrace

My house puts warm arms around me.  

I move within soft golden light.

At Last

Tonight, when she comes onto the bed to lie beside me, she purrs as loudly as she used to when he was here and she would snuggle between us. This is the first time since his death that she has expressed such deep content. It has been ten months. She stretches out now, and falls peacefully asleep.

The Sun Bursts

The sun bursts from the trees

blazing gold, too bright,

dazzling my eyes,

yet fails to take the chill
from the autumn morning air.

The rock I find by the side of the road

The rock I find by the side of the road must have rolled down the hill from somewhere — some hidden house at the top. Though it’s near no human habitation now, it is marked in thick blue lines: the base of an arrow and a spiral, crooked and fading.

I rescue it of course and ask if it is willing to come home with me. Once there, I ask if it’s happy to be cleaned and go back to natural. I scrub the markings away and put it outside my front door as a guardian.

I think it looks strangely blank. I think I’ll ask it soon if it will permit me to adorn it with new markings. The rune for protection, maybe, looking like the fletch of an arrow. And perhaps, to signify the Goddess, a spiral….

I open my door at 6am

Late autumn sunrise streaks the sky.

Small birds flit and twitter through low trees.

A fat white ibis fossicks in the gutter,

stalking slowly (ignoring me), rhythmically

dipping and lifting its long, hooked beak.

Sunny

Autumn. The cats find sunny doorsteps.