saved by daylight

Twice a year we go through this matter of daylight savings time change. Confusing enough to move through the seasons and keep the old biological clock ticking onward. Although it goes against the grain (I being indelibly and unshakably bound to nature’s seasons), perhaps the way for a staunch New Englander to be saved by daylight is to wake each morning to a dawn simulator. Seriously. I’m considering looking into it.

Because moving to California is not an option. Yes, I need the sunlight. I also need the seasons, the brisk snappy chill on winter cheeks that eventually drives me indoors to hot cocoa and a bone-warming fire. The first hint of spring emerging through sweet-scented dirt, the joy of visiting old friends and finding new volunteers in the garden. The lazy summer days that suggest sand, waves and a refreshing evening breeze. The raucous blaze of a lingering autumn in its multiple shades from coral to burnt umber.

Yes, I am saved by daylight, daily.

I need light
follow light, am
nurtured by light;
cat like, move
into each patch
as it shifts
through the day,
anticipate each spot
claimed a moment
to lift spirit,
set it free.

swb

balancing need

Credit: magnitudemedia

Credit: magnitudemedia

Surrounded by abundance sometimes
I forget to balance my own needs
with all the others that move in
and around my just-full-enough life

wrapping their tendrils around fragile
lessons learned through lean and bend
or occasional SNAP! of the too-long held
whose growing time is passed, yet clings

as if tenacity might bring renewed growth
to the vine yet instead, crowds out
young energy sprawling itself greenly
into tomorrow. Today it’s balance I want

to re-member as I mold my pieces together —
old, new, not-yet-become or even imagined . . .
How one plucked blossom emerges again
and again into ongoing abundance, season

upon season! Love is like that. Balance, too.
The more we practice, the easier it becomes.
The more we have, the more there is.
The more we give, the more we get.

I strive to recall the simplicity of this knowing
that balance is a practice like writing, love –
not a cancellation of one extreme
for the other. No erasure, just active paradox

reaching a shared sense of purpose,
achieved with intention and focus
looping and turning to create a whole
of otherwise disparate parts.

With time.
With practice.
With patience.
Balance.

swb
2-25-13