Of Silence & Wiggles

All the day critters but me
are asleep it seems,
curled under a leaf
or tucked into odd corners,
nestled in the forest of aloe plants,
in the cupped center of
the great towering leaves,
like thick church spires reaching high,
or hidden under the azalea bushes,
in the jungled mats of green
growing there,
in the leaf litter which
rustles in night breezes,

there is no sound at all,
the night denizens are silent,
no chorus of insects wails the air,
no frog calls,
no screech owl's soft rolling trills,
no sound, silence
except for the light tapping
of fingers on the keyboard,
there is no light yet,
only the velvet darkness
lit by morning stars,

this is the sacred pause
in the earth's turning,
like the silence between notes
when the great cathedral bells
toll the morning,
or that moment between
the inbreath and the outbreath,
an infinitesmal second,
the fulcrum that balances,
the silence at the heart of things,
the secret inner dark,
that some call god and others spirit,
that so fills me with peace
I barely breathe
and my body seems to float on my bones,

now the promise of first light
lifts the sky edges,
sleeping insects stretch and stir,
birds relax their feet,
that automatic clutch of the branch
while asleep,
fluff their feathers and
stare sleepy eyed in the emerging light,

larvae in the rain swelled pond
behind the house begin their day wiggles,
small breaths in even smaller creatures,

I sit here in soft amazement,
blanketed in feelings of peace,
grateful for my own
creature wiggliness,
my small space, reserved for me,
in this carousel of life and light,
this streaming feast,
this kinship with spiders and eagles,
and my soul smiles with the bluing sky
and the first fluted notes of the cardinal's song.

© Zen Oleary
August 5, 2003