Makaing Room for the Dawn

Not far down the road, there is snow. There is wind.
A Nor’easter with warnings to stay home.
From my window, I can see the power company trucks
Hurrying.

Here it is still with a pinkish light
over the quarry. The birds,
the ones that wintered at home, sing
as if nothing is happening,

I do not know which way the wind blows.
Whether the nearby storm is coming closer
or blowing out to sea. You cannot trust the weatherman.
But I know this:

For now there is beauty.
For now, in this place, there is color,
rich and textured. For now I am loved,
Whether I deserve it or not.

And that is enough to give me strength
to push the darkness away
and make room
for the dawn.

About this poem

I once had a therapist who taught me the art of living in the now. In the now, even when things are coming undone, life is mostly good. There is beauty. There is love. There are things to savor that get lost when anxiety steals them away. Of all the things she led me to, this has proven the most durable.

Or a poem about how we have to make room in our lives for the things we want.

Or a post about the weird snow storm that is piling up a few miles from me, while we are getting nada. Weather is weird. And poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken off my front porch, looking across the road at the quarry.

Tom