Stolen Days (Written January 31, 2020)
On these days so uncertain of “is” and “is not”,
When the world is so full of otherworldly charm,
When better for wonder to fill up the mind?
When better for magic to fall into your arms?
For indeed there are no days such as these,
These days of warmth in the cold winter’s depths,
As if the sun that breaks through the clouds
Were escaping from summer’s breath.
These are the days of rare special things,
For days stolen from pattern weigh more than they aught-
Like happiness in sorrow, like solace in a storm,
There is magic in the space between what is and what is not.
I knew there was a reason I was so reluctant to publish the poem I wrote yesterday. This is it, this is why. I wrote a poem about my struggles and sorrows without thinking that the sun might pierce the clouds. And then the darkness broke. No, materially, nothing has actually changed. Those struggles are exactly where I left them. But I am not the same person I was yesterday. The sun that broke the clouds today did more than melt the snow on the ground. I am more alive, more here, more at peace than I have been.
Thinking of it, I desperately need poetry and stories and learning in my life. Getting caught up in work and leaving those things behind just leads to myself being left behind with them. They are simply too much a part of me. I need this. I need to push my mind. and grow it, and ground it. So I read and I learn and I write and I grow- not upwards or outwards as people might expect to see but, rather, downwards like the roots of a tree. And I need quiet for that. Undisturbed soil, and space to spread out.
I know it isn’t the first time I have expressed this desire to grow like a tree, but I think I needed an out of sequence day to be reminded of it. Thank God for that jolt!
THANK YOU FOR READING! PLEASE RATE AND REPLY!