Winter sun

(c) A McN

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.

Honesty

You have looked inside
And seen the worms.
But I have seen the dark,
Rich soil they make.

You have named the shadowed beasts within
And shivered at their forms,
Forgetting that naming is the first step to understanding;
And understanding is the lion tamer's skill.

You have seen the fragile, sore, self consciousness of the inner self
But not yet realised this second sight
Is the source of all compassion.

You thought you saw ugliness
But it was only unformed beauty
Waiting for the time of grace to fall.

(c) A McN