[9 September 2019]

The midsummer autumn is a glory all its own,
the ripening, the closing down,
the suspending between light and light,
the flash of light that wreaths the sky in scarlet flame
and yellow and pink and tyrian purple; the thought gathers,
condenses, ripples outward from the still waters like
a single touch stirring the depths and the shallows. Come
to me with your wounds, your ailments, your hurts. The
iberis blooms, lying amongst the reaped sowed, growing
between corn cobs and threshed grain and bricks in the
foot of the hedgerow down the lane, dotting the hills with summer
clouds and winter snow. The marrow of sickle-cut soul bleeds,
pours out, spills forth in intimations of glory and grandeur, makes
a covenant unto itself, unto the rose and the swan and the fire
on the hillside, goes itself, gathers into itself the pretensions and
the silences of a time before. So, too, are you. The geese have gathered up
their young and the pollen has spread and the comet
makes its arc across the sky amidst the glory and the wonder
of a child finding his way home just before dark.

10 thoughts on “Notos

      1. Oh wow, I am just me…🎶
        Hear me sing.. I don’t know about that, well, maybe one day my friend. How about a live performance when you come to Norway👏🏻😊
        I search for musicians because I want to sing and write lyrics … I lost some good contacts due to illness, it was sad ..❤️
        Yes, let me light up the world, how awesome it could be🎶🎶🎶thank you for your kind words and support.
        Much love❤️


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