Seven Times and Seventy

The breeze gently blows the hairs on my arm
and a sudden raindrop threatens a storm.
Left without an oar, I feel a panic
rising and my breath quickens, so I breathe
deeply and give thanks, arigato, for
the wind and the mountain air, steadiness
of soul, seven times and seventy, still.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Comments

Post a Comment

Your comments and feedback are welcome. Please be sure to be respectful.

Popular posts from this blog

Breath Sonnet

Breathe in the sun's light shining, singing birds, illuminating high and bright, unfold. Breathe out the cobwebs of your mind, the words that hurt, these words cry out to be untold. Breathe in exploded cherry blossoms, blurs the sky with puffs of white, a beauty bold. Breathe out the chill of darkest night, the stirs of restless sleep and dreams disturb the cold. Breathe in the joy of star-specked sky, a moon's full glow to brighten corners of the night. Breathe out frustration, fear, that sense of doom. Send out forgiveness, love, to make it right Breathe in the parted storm, the lightened load. Breathe out the lost, the unfamiliar road. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more

Winter

Originally Posted: Tuesday, June 20, 2017 Winter On a day in which snow and ice imprison me in my home, and my todo list consists of revisions, judgments, and critiques, I take a pause to appreciate the long lines of the tree shadows stretching across the silky smooth sheet of white, reminding me that out of my shadows is light overhead. The dog, insistently putting her head in my lap as I try to put pen to paper, insisting on love. The blanket, lovingly knit by a woman I once heard, draped across my lap, warming my legs and my heart. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2017
Read more

On the Sale of Our Sailboat (Sonnet)

On the sale of our sailboat, dreams soaring away, on a run, in the wind, sad to see the horizon approach; the sun behind me shines a light on the breeze and me laughing out loud at the seemingly lazily floating by world. Past the mem’ries of days when we soaked in the warmth of the sun, glad to be kissing air, tanning skin, long brown hair blowing back, catch the wind, feel the speed, trust the tack. The elation of fun, when the boat caught a run, in the moment by moment days when we won the world and the wind, and our lives, looking back, the horizon ahead and our faith in our ride. Now, the blue's not the sea but our aging betide. © Christine Salkin Davis, 2019
Read more