Yesterday evening

While winter drew shadowy tree patterns on the western wall

I hung out the towels from this mornings wash

And listened to a hawk

Calling out in the paddocks of whispering grass golden

Air chill, damp rising

And the poem that had spun out of my head earlier in the day

Had left such a peaceful space

Where for a moment

Life left no trace

No narration

No voice

Other than that of the hawk

Calling itself home again, from some far away place

I know SubStack is a place for some that go from WordPress and never return. For me, it’s a place I visit and write differently to here. I’ve found a few others from WordPress over there and some walk in both worlds as well.

I love both because I don’t write poetry over there I write more general sort of things – trips and travel and ponderings.

If you are over there let me know, or if you would like to click on over easily – I’m here: https://open.substack.com/pub/kateduffwriter

Zero pressure – I know there is enough to keep us busy here on WP