Called out of ourselves by the scent of a wild rose, the stunning yellow spike of goldenrod – and we answer back

Wow. Now that’s what I’m talking about. A moving meditation by Laura Sewall. Is it poetry or prose? It would be easier to read with some paragraph breaks, but that’s the only change I’d make. I wish I could write half that well. Even ten percent that well. — John

Live & Learn

Laura Sewall

“Crickets call to the east. A chopper ratchets a mile to the west. I sit in the middle, my left ear seduced by the soft cadence, the evershifting song of crickets in spring. My right ear is hollowed out, hard, both braced against and invaded by the clipped din of machinery. I am beginning to cry. I have felt the breath and nudge of the Dreamtime and know that it is beyond my threshold of perception, just beyond my reach, just a slip of consciousness away. I long for my serpentine thirst to be quenched by the dreaming, long for the look and feel of ultimate belonging and the sensuous play of being embedded, in bed with the world, dug in and dirty. But the phone rings, my endless list of things to do nags, haunts, and fills my consciousness. I too perceive the invisibles. In this case, they are…

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “Called out of ourselves by the scent of a wild rose, the stunning yellow spike of goldenrod – and we answer back

  1. Wow, what a good read! Moving and beautifully written.

    Like

  2. Pingback: November Goldenrod | Photomiser

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