I lay awake and watch the stars dip low and call me out onto the porch
where I lay down my resolve to sleep
so early that the moon hides still behind the house,
the bright quiet of her shine
crisping the only edges of the yard and dusting the treetops with silver.
I wish for poetry but feel only dull;
the tired of me can’t rise to dance in the beauty rolled out here.
Until I lean the tiniest lean – just a slight nod of spirit
into the hush-away from all my questions humming.
Shhhhhhh – rest here now for just this breath.
Rest. here. now.
And as I breathe and then breathe again,
click goes my heart and open it swings
to this ordinary moment,
showing up like a weary traveler
to the unremarkable slice of time happening just exactly now.
I wonder how many friendly welcomes I’ve rushed on by,
feeling like a stranger in an even stranger place
just because I’m clinging stubborn to the season passed,
the one I’ve known and loved.
Breathing here, now, feels truer.
I can feel the changes work the rough edges of me over until I smooth
to the road that I’m on
and so the travel goes lighter.
And if I go quiet enough I can hear her,
singing love that rolls over fallen things
and quick around stones that won’t be moved
and when they clash she sounds like music
and it lifts me, too,
above my broken down ways
until I’m riding a new rhythm
into the living I’ve yet to do.
“I think there ought to be a little music here:
– Mary Oliver