some days breath
comes shallow and quick,
short, sharp hiss of inhale
no time to savour the sweet
scent of snow, fresh January air
cs Jan. 14 2013
days pass in a flurry of hurry
one thing after another. I tell myself
I cannot do this, I need to slow down
find time for the very small.
cs Jan. 15, 2013
each small stone a pebble of
mindfulness, a minute not spent
on the auto-pilot path of day-to-day.
when I don’t find the time, I’m
not being kind to my mind.
cs Jan. 16, 2013
Why Can’t I Slow Down?
some days I think I lack the gene
for mindfulness, the ability
to keep life simple, to walk
to the beat of life, instead of rushing
down the busy highway, intent
accelerating headlong toward chaos.
cs Jan. 17, 2013
If I move one thing on the desk
it will all tumble to the floor, this heap
of paper, documents of distress and worry
just another task I have no time for
cs Jan. 18, 2013
When I can’t reach the top shelf, or
bend to peer beneath another for
the soft pink ball my cat bats too far
when I huff and puff along, wheezing
like an old and rusty steam engine,
when the freckles on my face begin
to merge together, blending edges,
I look up at the clock, the steady tock
towards midnight, another night, another day,
each tick marking the passing years,
just like clockwork.
cs Jan. 19, 2013
Quiet days to start a new week,
a peek at what’s coming up in town
a look back at the week just ended.
The grind of things that must be done
not yet begun. Giving them voice in
their own small stones passes the burden.
Let them sit, granite-faced and cold.
Stones have nothing else to do but wait.
Let them do the worrying.
cs Jan. 20, 2013