Sun flecked curves of water, meandering in gentle flow
The noontime lance of brightness which wraps in warming glow
Drifting forest whispers from the sound of wind on leaves
These simple sprites of nature which run laden thoughts
through sieves
A wash of pattering raindrops on a roof of noisy tin
And the thundering crash of lightning shaking sleeping forms within
Our misted morning landscape seen through panes of well-known glass
Forms a single silent moment where all lingering doubts can pass
The look of weary joy upon my welcoming mother’s face
My father’s work gruff baritone no other will replace
A scent of early breakfast, savory wafting to my room
These the sights, the sound sensations piercing neatly through the gloom
It’s the needle of the compass which directs and forms a whole
And a steady, turning axis at the center of my soul
It’s the basic thread of comfort adding meaning to the strife
Which I’ll carry, bittersweetly, as a memory through my life
Hermit Thrush 