Saturday, March 03, 2007

Twilight mist

On a grey day,
In a narrow, dripping valley
Where the blackbirds sang and scolded alternately,
I watched the mist
Dissolve the trees
Into a formless void
As my splintered emotions
Melted together and settled out at last

The river ran,
A sleek silver snake,
Frothing and hissing on its bouldery bed;
Filling the damp air with the illusion of rainstorm.

This is the netherworld, the misty grey
Between night and day;
Between seasons;
Between the hurt and the healing.

It is a place of peace
Where the mist makes all things insubstantial;
All things isolated,
All perspectives skewed;
But, somehow, all things
Faintly new.

(c) A McN

After my 8 year old's tantrum to end all tantrums I felt thoroughly drained. How do you balance compassion and discipline? How do you teach forgiveness and responsibility at the same time? How do you stop the things someone shouts in anger taking root in your own confidence and self esteem? The mist had no answers, but being there, surrounded by the vastness of nothingness, made the answers less urgent.


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