POSTLUDE – THE INVISIBLE YEAR
Not every month
Announces its intentions
Aloud,
With seasonal colours
Or special flavours
Ripe for recognition.
Some slide in
Punctuating
The seasonal sentence
Like commas,

Hesitant,
Ambivalent,
Causing
A pause for reflection
On their intended direction,
Not speaking
The same language
We have become accustomed to –
Or think
We have a right
To expect.
These are the moments
In the year
When the rhythm slows,
When the colours
Leach out
And disappear
Into subtle shades
And the days
Are quietly
Concerned with brown
And earthy thoughts,
Whilst nights
Open up new vistas,
Landscapes of silver light
Drawing us
Inwards
Into tree-speak
And mole-dug mounds
Of freshly scented soil.
And the season
Just gone

Transforms itself
Unseen
Into a land
Of new being,
The sap pausing
To rise and fall
With the turning tide
According
To nature’s quiet
Deliberations
And the elements dance
According to their whim,
Jostling for supremacy.
Now is the time
Beloved,
To keep vigil
To listen to the heart beat
Invisible to the outer eye
Or we miss the moment,
The precious moment
Of renewal,
Impatient as we always are
For patterns
Made to measure
By our memories,
Denying
The very magic
For which we crave.

POSTLUDE – THE INVISIBLE YEAR
Not every month
Announces its intentions
Aloud,
With seasonal colours
Or special flavours
Ripe for recognition.
Some slide in
Punctuating
The seasonal sentence
Like commas,
Hesitant,
Ambivalent,
Causing
A pause for reflection
On their intended direction,
Not speaking
The same language
We have become accustomed to –
Or think
We have a right
To expect.
These are the moments
In the year
When the rhythm slows,
When the colours
Leach out
And disappear
Into subtle shades
And the days
Are quietly
Concerned with brown
And earthy thoughts,
Whilst nights
Open up new vistas,
Landscapes of silver light
Drawing us
Inwards
Into tree-speak
And mole-dug mounds
Of freshly scented soil.
And the season
Just gone

Transforms itself
Unseen
Into a land
Of new being,
The sap pausing
To rise and fall
With the turning tide
According
To nature’s quiet
Deliberations
And the elements dance
According to their whim,
Jostling for supremacy.
Now is the time
Beloved,
To keep vigil
To listen to the heart beat
Invisible to the outer eye
Or we miss the moment,
The precious moment
Of renewal,
Impatient as we always are
For patterns
Made to measure
By our memories,
Denying
The very magic
For which we crave.

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