The Journey Comes to You

Dawn
and you have been sitting
atop the quarry’s peak
for an hour,
your mind lost in love and loss,
consumed with pain and passion
and thoughts,

always thoughts,
turned inward,
wild and untamed,
journeying beyond the horizons
like the September geese
flying overhead in their perfect V.

There is a chill in the air and you can smell the rain,
a dark, damp presence rumbling slow
and still invisible from the South,
an unexpected storm
that lights the heavens
and teases your eyes with bright glimpses
of the valley below.

The long road tendrils out of sight,
flashes in and out of view, with each lightning flash.
The first few drops of rain fall, thick and hard,
a threat,
a promise.

You stay still,

Aware that at times you do not make the journey.
Instead,
it comes to you,
and washes you clean, and
if
you have the courage to wait,
to sit with the fearsome storm
and trust
what you have no reason to trust,
you will emerge from the malestrom
new,
more alive,
more aware of the magic of life and love,
more ready
to live.

About this poem

In every storm in my life, something amazing has emerged. Amazing and unexpected.

I took an early morning walk up the quarry this morning. The air here is thick with humidity, something rare in Vermont. I felt like I could feel it wash around me as I walked. It fell thick in my lungs.

And every day, there are geese overhead, heading south.

The picture is from the quarry across the street.

And from that mix, this poem.

Be well. Travel wisely. And be aware that sometimes the journey comes to you.

Tom