At the Threshold

At the Threshold

The year is blowing out 
      in great gusts,
peeling birds from the air,
   lifting oak leaves
             in brown murmuration.  

Pines and firs
     bend low today,
sweep the ground
             with swishing needles.

Hail gleams on the doorstep.
I am afraid
       of the weather to come.
                I am afraid,
and I must become.

From my walk yesterday, nearing the threshold between day and night

The Prompt

Darlings! I have missed you. I’ve been almost completely absent from Substack since my last post, and I look forward to catching up on your comments and poems. I hope you’ve made it through the past week without too many dents and bruises and perhaps with a few happy memories to carry you through future tough times.

Somehow, the year is ending already! I wrote this poem just now, staring out at the blustery world and its ominous shades of gray, thinking of the changes around the corner for those of us living in the United States, as well as of the accelerated pace of change that exists worldwide. It’s interesting how weather affects my moods and thoughts. If it were warm and sunny, I might be chirping away optimistically about all of my hopes for the year ahead. I think a little brooding is good for the soul, though. My deepest intention for the year ahead is to live with my eyes and heart wide open—and that is bound to mean all kinds of weather.

If you’d like a prompt to nudge you toward your next poem, then I invite you to pause and notice your own thoughts, feelings, and reactions to the turning of the calendar. Maybe you have resolutions or an intention for the year ahead. Maybe you abhor resolutions and hope the hoards of people who are about to take a sudden interest in your favorite elliptical machine at the gym would just give up already. Maybe you give little thought to resolutions, but you love New Year’s festivities. Maybe the first morning of the year typically comes with a headache and the need for a good pair of sunglasses. Maybe the year used to begin that way, and now it doesn’t, and it’s difficult territory, trying to celebrate without a beverage (or two or ten) in hand. Maybe you celebrate by going to bed early or by reflecting back on what you’ve learned in the year that’s just passed. Maybe you’re counting your blessings. Maybe you’re counting your losses. Maybe you’re kissing loved ones. Maybe you’re licking your wounds.

Where are you right now as we reach this threshold? Can you feel the poem inside this moment—inside your right now? Let it out. Share it here if you’d like. I would be so honored to read it!