(It’s what the passing bumble bee
leaves on a hot summer day)
It’s Not the Sound
It’s not the sound
Not the gentle rustling of leaves
Not the wind whistling through winter cracks
Not the splashing waves
Not the drone of constant traffic
Not the normal busyness of mind and conversation
It’s the ceasing
when the rain quits
when the cricket pauses from its chirping
It’s an interruption of the dove’s gentle cooing
It’s what the passing bumble bee leaves on a hot summer day
It’s a fading away of a prairie night train
It’s the silence left
the sudden hushing, a stilling over
It’s the dropping off, a falling away
For a moment the ear stops receiving
a chance crossing of paths, coincidence, serendipitous
It’s a rare state of muteness
Illusive, attention captured by absence
the world grasps the significance only
when the cricket resumes its chirping
the distant hum of traffic, the train
return of the wind, the waves
the dove and passing conversations.
(This poem is available as part of a publication called Mother Nature Easts Her Kind now available at Neil’s website at garvie.ca)
Good morning !
Niel’s poem came through okay. After reading the acceptance piece, I clicked the read more button .
No response.
Knowing you, I figured it was to tease me, aggrevate me or a call to write you.
Which I’m doing
The elevator is slowly rising.
Tough month.
Lost 3 buddies, culminating in the 6th anniversary of ny brother’s passing.
I honour the emotion either by sitting in them, embracing them or by sobbing to a youtube song
” Heaven’s on the line ” by Darrel and Saskia.
Darrel was one of this months departures.
Soon, we can commiserate over coffee.
Stay well ⚘