Sunday, December 2, 2012

Winter Rest

Reverb12
Waiting by Michael Douglas Jones



Patient,
stands the empty vase in winter,
waiting for the summer blossom.



I am spent; you will not see me in my winter rest, thirty steps down the bank, off the burnt hill road, beyond the long line of scrub pines, where the split-rail remnants trail off; there I am, blending back into the breath of soft soil. My last companion is a wake of vultures, the black angels of carrion come. I am the ribcage in the cornfield.

I know I had more to give, but I would not walk with you, held back by my doubts, not in you, but in me. On every road, I turned off before reaching the ridge. This day, my will is too weak to return to the road, so I rest here until spring.

Try as I might, when I return, I won’t remember this; the days will grow longer; I will walk these roads with you again, and one day, we will reach the ridge.



Posted in response to Reverb12 

10 comments:

  1. oh I find this heartachingly beautiful...and wish to see this ridge.

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  2. the ribcage in the cornfield...
    lost in the cycle/circle of life, winter is the time for rest, the ridge will wait til spring, renewal, life bursting forth, flowers, sunshine.
    the black angels will keep us company until then.

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  3. I know these doubts, recognize them, and I can feel them too. I've waited for so many springs. What a beautiful image.

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  4. My will to return to the road is too weak too, Michael... And still present and throbbing at once. Your words always cut straight through to the core of me. Thank you for creating so much beauty.

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  5. i held my breath though the reading of this, and i read it aloud almost in a whisper, such perfect rhythm, and as always such imagery. the burnt hill road i saw as clearly as if i were there. this is fabulous stuff.

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  6. Beautiful words ... wishing you a restful season.

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  7. This is how I feel when spring folds into summer. I long for Autumn and the cozy season. It's like waiting for an old friend. The imagery here is gorgeous and lush. Thank you, Michael.

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  8. Your writing blows me away, always beautiful, heartfelt and moving.

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  9. ...i rest here until spring. oh, how those words resonate in me. i find myself already awaiting spring.
    this is quite beautiful, Michael, and haunting.
    Tilda

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