Day draws its cloak tighter.
Scripted hours fade now to black sky.
The hush of night feels like a closed door,
it sounds like monks in prayer,
and I wonder what was wasted here.
Here in the Heartland,
did I miss the click clack of windchimes
carrying music across the field?
Did I forget to notice
the me that is morphing
in to the next day?
Still, the naked trees stand guard,
on high alert, they greet what is next,
not my foolish questions.
They, the silent witnesses of a captive night,
stand quiet like ushers,
to welcome this dark night,
the backdrop for stars and comets,
If you’re interested in more thoughts on integrity, compassion and grace–if you’re looking for exploratory questions to unearth pieces of your soul, check out my book Tao Flashes. Or visit me at http://www.facebook.com/taoflashes or on twitter @taoflashes
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