Looking out from behind the holly bush
as the early morning fog gently lifts,
watching the gauzed-tinted light softly push
its way into the air like a shy mist,
one can almost forget the waking world,
with its constant focus on ringing clocks
and deadlines for conflict. To find the pearl,
one must grasp firm the mad oyster, and shuck
quickly, to avoid contamination.
But it is there – in the quiet wren’s song,
and the sharp greeting clicks of a squirrel;
there is enough time for contemplation,
to explore one’s choices, sense right and wrong
and augment life in this sad, troubled world.
22 JAN 2003
