Edge Places



In the pre-dawn sky

I meet myself

at the river’s edge,

breathing into the promise

of a new day.

The sky is Nature’s painting.

Salmon and pink, bruised plum

Smudged charcol blue gray clouds…

The golden eye of the rising sun

shatters the moment…

My gaze turns inward.

Within the hour

the white glare of this star

will insist that I turn away.

Love songs break the silence.

Birds begin animated conversation

from bud swelled trees.

The waters of the rising river

and unfurling globe willow greens

become the mirror

in which I witness paradox.

Nature repeats Her Story of Becoming

with each new day,

Yet She is also always changing colors,

so why not me?


Working notes:


I wrote this poem after my daily pre-dawn walk to the now rising rushing waters of Red Willow river to witness the coming of dawn. This practice centers me, offering me a moment for gratitude, although it often raises urgent questions… Lately my energy level has been so low due to passing (I hope) illness that I find myself out of step with the burgeoning of spring.


And yet, I also know that this is part of a yearly cycle of descent that I make. It is apparently necessary for me to pass through this dark door, a gateway that separates me from the joy of this seasonal return of the sun each spring, in part due to the strain of the brilliance of the spring sun puts on my very sensitive aging eyes.


In truth I thrive in the edge places.