This poem was first posted on September 16, 2011.
The day is fresh and new.
Rose scent fills the air,
The house ticks like an old clock shop.
I sit by the window,
Sipping tea,
Absorbing the quietness,
Listening to robins hunting worms
In the yard.
When was my heart last still?
When was my mind last able to see the world?
When was my body last rested?
I release the breath I’ve been holding for days,
I drop my hands to my sides.
I hear the words,
“Come to me, weary one,”
Ready now, I come.
Ginger Kauffman
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