A Sense of Place

A delight of our life,
a special place,
a place to call our own,
a wholesome, healing hideaway,
a settling-in place, a coming home,
a place where peace can enter in.

We lick our wounds,
hold wonder close.
A special letter is reread.
A tear is shed.
A prayer is said.

We need to stay.
We need to mend.
We listen to the wind, our friend.
Birds have a song much sweeter there.
A brightness heightens everywhere.
Colors daily dance, entrance, enhance;
high places, tree houses,
tippy tops, roof tops,
a night sky, a falling star,
a broken moon,
a hollow willow pool.

Dawn comes.
A goldfinch chirps.

A favorite tree,
a pine so tall
is clothed in clouds.
Yet boughs bow down encircling me.

A gentle swaying garden swing.
I hear the birds
their vespers sing.

A rugged rock.
A well worn dock.

"Grandma let's go to a secret place."
A privileged invitation this,
be it a shower stall, or a backyard deck,
a quiet mossy sculptured cave,
an overstuffed discarded chair,
Grandma's attic,
my piano bench.

What bliss to bless,
to be aware.
Creation stirs. God is felt.
I dare to leap.
The net is there.

by Colleen Gordon

Send Comments to Greg Gordon MD, CFI, cydoc@earthlink.net
Last updated: