The Gift

The Gift

I am grateful that my body clock has had this reset,where the night owl is hooting in the winter dark hours before dawn.  Truthfully,  I love autumn and winter and the long hours of darkness. It does make me wonder if I will be up in the ambrosial hours making poetry at 4am during the the long days of midsummer though! It does seem like the Poetry Daily is now a fixture of my life and, having passed the three month mark of writing and posting daily there is no sign of abatement yet.

Also, I am grateful for this pre-dawn quiet, gathering time, in what is a season of overwhelment. There are guests coming and menus to be planned and provisioned. There is a concert to be rehearsed and delivered. There are greetings to be sent near and far. There are the loose ends of projects to sign off on before the Great Feast and the annual shut down that happens here in Ireland between Christmas and New Year (except if you work in retail!)

But each morning, it is just me and the snoozing old dog, and maybe a hungry cat mooching for early breakfast. I make tea and then face the blank page. I wait to see what will turn up for the Poetry Daily.

The Gift

These are the quiet hours
where we can hear
our own heart beat
in the silence and the darkness,
where only dreams can speak
of our loves and our losses
so eloquently.
They weave that tapestry
from our own anxiety.

These are the quiet hours
where dawn beckons
and makes us wait and wait
through this long, chill dark.
Like good children waiting
for the Big Beardy Man
in a red suit and black boots
we stay hushed.

This waiting time is magical.
Anything, but anything
might turn up! And be a gift.

Copyright © 2018 Bee Smith

Featured image Photo by Kira auf der Heide on Unsplash

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