Nothing to See Here

Some days there is nothing to see.
A horizon without mystery or promise.
A place. A time. Nothing more.

Some days, there is nothing to see.
Nothing inside to stir you or rile you up.
A place. A time. Nothing more.

And you sit. And you look without seeing.
Even the demons, the ones you invited for tea,
are quiet.

It is not exactly peace. Not exactly struggle.
Almost a relief. Even if it feels unsafe.
Familiar and dangerous.

But tides shift.
Winds blow in driftwood and storms.
The landscape will change

for better or worse;
the blindness will lift.

About this poem.

Processing my feelings has never come easily. Mornings are the hardest as I sift through my emotions and the daily depression to know what I am feeling as the day begins. You have to have a starting point, after all. Poetry and journaling are often my starting point. A kind of shaking the tree to see what falls out.

The photograph was taken at Marconi Beach at Cape Cod

Tom