Journalism

Running_deer_-_geograph.org.uk_-_963287

Who we weren’t, when
it was too painful.

What we got wrong,
all of it. What really
happened. Maybe.

Where the dead gather,
quiet at last.
Where we were, before.

When frost embellishes
the plainest object,
as if beauty were
actually everywhere.

Why running deer seem
to float and flying insects quiver,
why time speaks to motion,
why long-dead stars
still beckon.

How the flicker’s call pierces
the ear with loneliness,
how breath and its shadow
materialize in winter,

how we breathe into
the shortening days
and lengthening nights,

how we meet the dark
suspended and trembling;

how we love our lives.

wintermoonfeat

11 comments

  1. I love the way you see & express things, Cate, & help us go there with you!

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    1. What a lovely compliment. Thank you!

      Like

  2. Intriguing, enticing … each stanza an appetizer for more! “What we got wrong, /
    all of it. What really / happened. Maybe.” That maybe triggers quivers within.
    And the closing moon image – more quivers!

    Like

    1. Thanks, Jazz! I appreciate the visceral way you describe your response; that really pleases me.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Beautiful poem, Cate. “How we meet the dark,” indeed!

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    1. Thanks, Bob; it always means a lot to hear from you.
      I have wondered how you are faring on Eastern time; I could never settle into it. I hope Indiana is feeling ever more like home.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I’ve gotten accustomed to Eastern time, and am feeling at home, except for the weather, which is SO different. 🙂

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        1. Indeed. Your first winter there will be an adventure; let’s look at it that way. 🙂

          Liked by 1 person

        2. I’m going shopping for a heavier coat today. Ha.

          Liked by 1 person

  4. Absolutely superb blog thanks

    Like

    1. You’re welcome. Thank you for expressing your appreciation.

      Like

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