I start the day by Lauren Watkins
I start the day alight
With courage and direction
The sky above, so bright
My heart is its reflection
I’ve purpose in my soul
I reach my hand toward it
For it will make me whole
My patience then rewarded
And so I onward go
The sun is at its summit
The shadows lengthen, so
My hope begins to plummet
The night is fast approaching
The summertime now waning
The darkness near, encroaching
My love, not yet obtaining
And yet, I feel you near me
I’m waiting, can’t you see it?
I’m yours, can you not hear me?
My heart, will you not free it?
The Waterfall by Carla James
What magic is in a waterfall,
in the cold, and in the moss.
In the flitting and the clever wit of tiny blue-brown gossips
Who gather in the green to watch and judge and warn and fuss.
And in the way it slightly shifts:
while humming on my back,
something bandied and too-oft aloft:
an old and stagnant loss.
What relief there is in looking up,
when the fear of falling stops.
When a gaze – long trained on tracks and gnarls and traps and cracks –
finds blue amid the gusting tops.
And what grace is in a moment caught,
dry-soaked in sparking amber,
the kind that can expel a netted breath –
far, far, far too long held in lungs
far, far, far too ashamed to let it go –
and turn it into wonder.
There is magic in the letting go.
And in birds and sun and looking up.
And getting wet and being bold.
And even in the sting of cold,
so sharp the air is urged out of me.
And here inside the green and gold
and cold and rough and loss of time,
I hold my breath and wonder:
On which side am I?
Inside the suffocating squall?
Or atop the righteous roar?
Of the waterfall.