and it was all about taking time out and listening to oneself by breathing etc etc. My plan was to do so early on Sunday morning, but events took over and this plan failed completely.
It was a good day though, filled with lots of extra bits of the unexpected, so why the dark melancholy late at night when I finally stopped reading and decided at long last to go to bed?
I wish I knew, but wide awake with the rest of the house asleep, and the normal mountain breeze that sweeps across the valley taking a temporary holiday, I found myself in silence.
Maybe it was the damnation of depressing January, or the absence of Christmas chocolates, or the dark winter night waiting for the snowdrops to peek up and tell us that it will soon be Spring, but for the life of me, I can't remember when I listened and I heard so little back.
I think perhaps it's time I got out more, but the end result, a dark poem, roll on the snowdrops!
Night
It is late, in the restlessness of night,
infrequent sounds, stark interruptions,
to silence gently carried by the breeze
that now creeps across the valley.
It is the very absence of real noise
that echoes the spell of loneliness,
‘as quiet as the grave,’
no wild bellows from the depth of earth.
Nor the voices of others asleep,
even my own, loud normally inside my head, stops,
no longer busy, seeking, running away from,
and the silence deafens.
The eerie nothingness invades.
And so I breathe,
because I must,
the harshness is in the silence I hear back.
sounds like a case of tiredness... well described missus, I think it's quite understated, and strong too because of that.
ReplyDeleteSounds like too much coffee and staying up too late!!!
ReplyDeleteI'm lovin that last stanza!
ReplyDeleteThanks TFE.
ReplyDelete... in the still of the night, can feel daunting.
ReplyDeleteTwas a bit gloomy all right but worth it for the terrific last stanza
ReplyDeleteIsn't it interesting how these things come upon us with little or no warning? One minute - busy, fine; the next - listening to our dreads. Is it the poetic spirit, do you suppose?
ReplyDeleteNot sure Karen whether it is the poetic spirit or the mad spirit, but it sure as hell crept up on me all of a sudden alright. Got up this morning went for wonderful walk and everything was normal again, well as normal as normal can be that is!!
ReplyDeleteYou're right Helen, planning on going to bed early tonight.
T.G. Emerging Writer for that at least!
This wonderfully nails that moment where you stop on all levels for a while and experience what creeps in. I love it!
ReplyDeleteI really like this - been there, in the middle of the night too, except my brain rarely quietens, unless you hit me with a mallet.
ReplyDeleteMy favourite is the second stanza with the bellows echoing the spell of loneliness (as if to underline the experience).
Kat
Thanks Jules and Kat. I guess we have all been there at some point!
ReplyDeleteThe eerie nothingness invades.
ReplyDeleteAnd so I breathe,
because I must,
the harshness is in the silence I hear back.
How well you captured this feeling...