A Perfect Waiting
Yesterday you drove by, too busy to stop,
aware of the light. Aware of the time,
a bit frustrated by it all, but vowing
to come back.
And here you are. Simply sitting.
The voice of your first poetry teacher in your ears.
“Let it come to you. Give it time. Trust,
Everything, photographs, poems, love has its own schedule.”
Those words have become a mantra, a patience
you did not know you had, A profitable one
that has served you well. Trusting the cycles of God
to bring you to the perfect moment.
And so you sit. Wait. Watching the sun fall
to the edge of the horizon, suddenly warm,
the perfect light. For maybe a minute.
Long enough to get the shot.
You release a sigh after the click of the camera.
You do not need to review it. You know.
You have captured the light, the moment.
and now it is time to leave
and look for what is next. Worth waiting for.
About this poem
A memory. A mantra. About me. About love. About light. About my first poetry teacher. About faith. Poetry is never about one thing.
The picture was taken down the road from me in West Pawlet, VT.