Sunday Morning

Ekaterina Smirnova pinterest.com

Ekaterina Smirnova     pinterest.com

Sunday morning
Fog shrouds the Island
bringing a sense of normal
to a world gone too bright
words soaked with hate
Too many words

Time for Sabbath
For a look into the heart
rather than the study of heat
angry words from angry men
who tear the world apart
so as to rebuild it

Sunday morning
We awaken to walk out
into a cool cathedral to pray
for the world violence amok
mercy for all our silence
grace for our sins

“I leave work’s daily rule
And come here to this restful place
Where music stirs the pool
And from high stations of the air
Fall notes of wordless grace,
Strewn remnants of the primal Sabbath’s hymn
A tale of evil twined
With good, serpent and vine,
An innocence as evil’s strategem.” ~ Wendell Berry

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About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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3 Responses to Sunday Morning

  1. This might be one of my favorites, Peter. That idea of fog being a welcome respite from “a world gone too bright” is so different and so lovely.

    Like

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