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
