Select Page

All these things find me
on a mindful winter’s walk,
offering exodus.

The mist of morning breathing
and blazing orange sunrise
appear as a cloud and pillar
to navigate by.

The path-side sculpted hedges
speaking in hushed rustling tones,
awaken me
to this hallowed moment.

The still-warm cup of coffee
gripped by my strolling hand
feels like a magical staff
held to strengthen my wanderings.

The glassy canal waters,
which only appeared three years ago,
lay as a mirror reflecting the land
that parted for its progress.

On the horizon
an army of yellow coated men
march along scaffolds
building monuments to the god of this age.

It’s hard to describe
the perennial stories
a mindful soul
may find itself in,
so I will not.

David Tensen