Oddments

In search of story

November 18.21: Coping

7 Comments

I’m lonely;

I’ll make me a world,

God said.

Now comes the echo,

in winter wind

— loneliest sound —

that lifts dead leaves

like empty chalices,

a last offering

before ice that freezes

even loneliness,

and the moldering carpet

woven by the wind

becomes blanket

for wiggly unseens.

And yet

I’m lonely

lingers:

each of us,

after all,

only one.

 

With thanks to James Weldon Johnson for his poem “The Creation,”

and to the anonymous student

in a high school speech meet many years ago

who put it in my head.

 

7 thoughts on “November 18.21: Coping

  1. Nice. I might have to show more respect for all those leaves I’ve been raking. 🙂

  2. “…becomes blanket for wiggly unseens” Oh how that reminds me of the year we didn’t rake any leaves. We left everything until spring and we had a biology project when we started cleaning the yard in April.

  3. ‘Ice that freezes / Even loneliness’ gave me pause – it’s a powerful thought. I have been looking at the fallen leaves along the pavement on my solitary walks and having the opposite thought – how they seem to socialise or at least gather and mix. They do not exactly move in ways the human mind might predict… or at least not this one.

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